


Sparagmos

by VesperDeRolo



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Recovery, Sith Master & Apprentice Relationship(s), Suicidal Thoughts, sith worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29266602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VesperDeRolo/pseuds/VesperDeRolo
Summary: Self-cannibalization seems to be the fate of the Sith Empire, but Darth Kharopos could not bear to stand by and idly watch the fall of a civilization. On the other hand, Yen could not care less: forget the Sith and the Jedi, all she wanted was to turn back time. Yet, they say hope is contagious. Dare she hope for a chance at happiness?This is what it means to be torn asunder, to be dismembered and rendered alive. This is what it means to die, and then be reborn.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first time trying my hand at writing a proper multi-chaptered fanfic. The characters will grow and change throughout the story- for example, Yen will not remain as bratty as she was in the first chapter. There is a strong theme of mental health throughout the fic too, and the first eight chapters will be written from the perspective of Yen who is quite mentally ill. However, it won't be doom and gloom throughout. A magical system (inspired by traditional witchcraft and historical magical practices) will also be introduced, hoping to flesh out Sith magic. Please enjoy, and feel free to follow and hmu at @hothian-snow on Tumblr!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "At Sabbat’s End, the Devil’s Throne is empty, that Man may sit upon it."  
> \- Khiazmos

One step. Two steps. She skipped along the ledge with cat-like agility. There were no doubts in her fluid motions, no hint of fear nor hesitancy. Yennevyr moved like a gymnast, balancing on a beam.

Suddenly, possessed by curiosity, she paused mid-step and looked down.

Celanon looked different by night. The multitude of color shining from the city - the fluorescent street lamps, the neon advertisement boards and the decorative adornments stuck haphazardly onto buildings - looked garish in the darkness, their lights piercingly bright and vexingly vibrant. It was as if someone had turned up the contrast a thousandfold. If Yennevyr relaxed her eyes, the prismatic lights blurred into one kaleidoscopic blob that twinkled and danced like an iridescent pearl shimmering under a tenebrous sea.

Celanon was annoyingly colorful and dazzling, or perhaps she was just drunk.

She could sense the vertigo kicking in as she stood upon the edge of the skyscraper, looming over a hundred stories high up in the clear sky. In her right hand, with painted nails and jeweled fingers, she swirled the crystalline bottle of Merenzane Gold around absentmindedly. The liquid, which was perfectly aged until it became the shade of distilled sunset, swished around the half-empty bottle with each movement of Yennevyr’s wrist.

The wind whipped at her long, black hair, and with the remaining hand she casually brushed her fringe out of her eye. Ever so slightly, she rocked her heels forward, her head peering over the edge.

In just one drop, the world would be in motion.

“Yen!”

She steadied her feet and glanced back at the familiar, feminine voice. The Togruta, no older than her, was glaring at her. Gisele crossed her blue arms over her chest. Her ‘bodyguard’ was clad in lightweight, black armor, and wore a sleek helmet that covered the tip of her montrals. She was dressed in uniform tonight, and her violet eyes were blazing, clearly irritated by what she saw.

“You shouldn’t be drinking,” Gisele said with a purse of her lips. “Not yet, anyway.”

“The wine Papa serves in his dinners tastes like rancid piss, and this is better,” Yen replied with a shrug, raising the bottle in her hand. She paused, taking a sideway glance at the bottle, smirked at the Togruta, and nonchalantly poured the rest of the alcohol over the edge of the skyscraper. “There: evidence gone.”

“That’s wasteful, Yen.”

“Oh, stop looking so grim!” Yen placed the contentless bottle on the ledge and hopped down onto the rooftop’s concrete floor, her feet landing easy. She sauntered forward, until she was standing close enough to Gisele to feel her body heat amid the chilly night air. She was sure Gisele could smell the sweet scent of the golden liquor on her breath. Tenderly, she placed a hand on the Togruta’s cheek, her thumb caressing the corners of her bodyguard’s plump lips.

“Stop worrying about me,” Yen said, and in one swift maneuver, she gave the woman a peck, savoring the sensation of the kiss. “Now, where’s my lipstick?”

An unwilling smile crept onto Gisele’s face and a rosy blush flushed over her blue cheeks. She reached into her saddle, and gave Yen a small make-up kit along with a datapad. Knowing the routine, Yen opened the kit to find the golden tube and applied two swipes of the ruby lipstick across her upper and lower lips. She refrained from licking her tongue, no matter how dry her lips felt, and ignored the tingling sensation that arose.

She made her way down from the rooftop and headed for the dining room, paying no attention to the security and housemaids that bowed as she passed. These halls were familiar to her; she could walk these corridors even if she was blindfolded, for every corner and turns were etched into her memories from years of growing up within the premise. Strangers, not used to the vertical labyrinth, may stop and gawk at the hundreds of the opulent tapestry and plundered art work that were on proud display throughout the building. Yen never paused in her stride, for she now had a mission to accomplish.

Reaching the double durasteel doors that marked her entrance, she waited for Gisele to signal a nod and then stepped through the doors which swung open, her heels making loud clicks against the glossy floor. In her arms was the datapad that she was previously given, held gingerly like a babe. She plastered a crescent-moon smile upon her face.

The room was set up like she was used to seeing. Papa - Byronai Airen, the infamous leader of the Exchange cell on Celanon - was naturally seated at the head of the table. He was dressed impeccably in a deep navy shimmersilk suit, something Yen noted that he only wore for special occasions. Opposite him was a man whom she identified as Rerick Burgan, a Black Sun agent who looked less like a representative and more like a nervous lamb to slaughter. He had mousy gray hair and blinking cybernetics over the left side of his face.

Yen’s gaze then fell upon the dinner table itself. The food, at least on the guest’s side, looked untouched, the wine in his chalice still filled to the rim.

Oh, did he really think Papa would poison the meal?

“Yennevyr!” Byronai said, and Yen beamed at how he was smiling, his hand gesturing out in an open palm. “You have the contract for our dearest guest here?”

She nodded at him and shifted her attention towards the fidgeting man who gaped at her, jaws slightly hanging. Yen gave him a curtsey, dipping down low enough that the hem of her skirt touched the floor, before rising back up and placing the datapad in front of the guest.

“I hope this evening has been pleasant for you, sir,” Yen’s voice was sultry, a smokey husk to her tone.

She stepped forward, ever so slowly closing the gap between herself and the man, acutely aware that the man’s eyes were darting around, following her every action. In a fluid stroke, she reached out and intertwined her fingers with his, like ivy strangling an old tree, watching as his eyes moved down to where her hands now clasped his own. She gave his hands a squeeze, and caught his gaze and held it tight - a python hypnotising its prey.

Then, she brought the back of his hand to her lips. Onto his rough skin, she planted a kiss deep enough to ensure that her lipstick would leave a stain- counting one, two, three, and then letting go. The man’s eyes widened, and she gave a satisfied smile at how he swallowed, how beads of nervous sweat began forming around his brows.

Yen spun around and addressed her father. “May I take a seat?”

At the affirmative, she sat down. A servant immediately began pouring her a glass of wine from a gaudy diamond-encrusted jug, and Yen took a big sip. The tingling sensation on her lips died.

She let the conversation wash over her, instead focusing on the delicacy on the table. Grilled imported icefish, with flesh the color of snow and a texture that was softer than butter. A leg of an overfed beast, whose meat was marbled with fat, plump and bouncy to the touch. A stew that took a month to cook, the scent of spices and herbs rising in swirled mists from the bowl. Yen made sure to eat with grace, holding the correct utensils the proper way, keeping her back straight and not letting anything spill onto her laps.

Only when she reached the cheese and the Ecclessis figs did she use her hands. The particular fig she picked up was shaped strangely like a heart. She dug her nails into the peel of fruit and when a small stream of red juice leaked out, she licked the sweet liquid dry, lapping it up with satisfaction. Glancing at her father, she knew the only reason why she was not scolded for lapse in manners was because her father was still arguing with his guest about business. Yen smirked, and bit into the fig, the fruit bursting in her mouth like an organ punctured by fangs.

At that moment, Rerick stood up, slamming his fists onto the dinner table.

“I will  _ not _ agree to such a ridiculous contract!” Rerick said, his face turning an ugy shade of pink. “Your proposition is an insult to the Black Sun.”

Byronai only smirked. His eyes flicked down to a watch on his wrist, and then he grinned.

“Ah, the effects should be kicking in soon.”

“What are you talking about-”

The man stopped short, the words caught in his throat. He put his hands to the collar of his shirt, frantically wringing it about as if it was strangling him. His hands were shaking, and Yen could see the kiss-stain like an inflamed bite mark against his now pale and sweating skin.

Yen took another bite of the fig.

“You poisoned me… but I didn’t eat anything!” Rerick began muttering, now reaching for a weapon, hidden not so secretly in a covert pocket.

“You may put a blaster to my head if that pleases you,” Byronai said, “but you will still be dead by the time this conversation is over.”

“You- you cheat-” the man began coughing. “I- please!”

Yen rolled her eyes. “Papa, tell him to sign the damn contract already- I’m bored of this.”

The man turned his attention towards her, his eyes wide. He glared at her, and something must’ve clicked in his head for he then noticed his irritated hand and his already dilated eyes grew even larger. He took out a vibroknife and pointed it in her direction. Yen scoffed and smiled in return, and took a final bite of the fig. She made a show of swallowing the fruit, savoring the lingering sweetness on her tongue. The blade in his hand trembled.

“If I sign…” the man choked out, “will… will you-”

“You will be cured, yes.” Yen’s father said curtly.

Rerick dropped the knife without hesitation. Gasping for breath, he scribbled out a signature and Yen bursted out in a guffaw. She could feel Papa’s disapproving gaze at her rude outburst but she continued laughing, her cackles sounding as bright as a newly sharpened blade as it echoed throughout the room. When her laughter stopped and she looked back at her father, the datapad that was once placed in front of the man now held in his arms. He gave her a small nod, and Yen grinned, noticing the glint in his eyes.

Like the shiny glint of a blaster hilt.

“There is no cure, you  _ idiot _ , because you weren’t poisoned,” Byronai sneered, and the smile on his face soured into a scowl. “I would not be so rude as to poison my guests.”

“Drugged, on the other hand,” Yen spoke up, not trying to hide the gloat in her voice. “It’s just a psychoactive drug that’s easily absorbed through the skin, but it’s known to have some adverse… effects. Though, I heard it’s popular among those who are into autoasphyxiation.”

Yen winked, before bursting out into another fit of laughter.

She knew her father had drinks which were concocted especially to negate such effects, including the one she drank earlier. Not likely that he’d offer the Black Sun agent the symptomatic treatments though. Furthermore, since no attempts have been made on the man’s life, the Black Sun could not claim it to be an act of coercion unless they’d be willing to admit weakness, to confess to the world that Yen’s pretty face and a recreational drug managed to trick a seasoned mobster to believe he was being assassinated.

“I believe our meeting has now been concluded,” Byronai said. With that, the guest was escorted out.

* * *

_ Papa looks tired tonight _ , Yen thought, as she slowly opened the door that led to her father’s bedroom, twisting the doorknob with care as to not cause any creaking noise.

Byronai was at his desk, working on the last pieces of business he had to wrap up before he could fall into slumber. Yen slipped into the room, and closed the door behind her.

“Just a minute, Yen.”

Her father finished up typing the few final sentences, and then twisted around in his chair. He smiled, and Yen noticed the bags under his eyes, more prominent now that there wasn’t any fancy food or an ornate dining hall to distract her from his weary appearance.

“How are things going, Papa?” Yen asked, and took a seat on one of the sofas in the master bedroom. “Everything alright with the Black Sun?”

“Yes, yes… don’t worry about them,” Byronai said, waving away the concern. “You did wonderful, as always. Our  _ guest  _ was suspicious of everything, but he never suspected that  _ you _ could bring him harm.”

Yen grinned. Her father stood up from his chair and walked to where she was seated, and pulled her into a big hug.

“It’s getting late,” Byronai said. “I know you’re used to late nights, but you should get some rest. Unless, there’s anything you want to talk about?”

She considered throwing his words back at him; it wasn’t as if he was sleeping the healthy amount either. She wasn’t dumb, nor was she blind to notice how her father was working longer hours, and seemingly more on edge than usual even if he tried to conceal his anxieties. In the recent weeks, on her stroll through the Celanonian streets, Yen had sensed the tense atmosphere that had washed over the city like a funeral pall. It was as if the city itself was holding its breath in suspense, waiting for a pin to drop or a bullet to be shot.

“I…” she could say all of that, or she could simply just let it go, noticing how her father was ready to collapse the moment his head hit the pillow. “I just want to take Gisele out to lunch with me tomorrow. I think my card’s maxed out… can I borrow yours, please?”

Byronai rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless.

“I’m allowing this because Gisele deserves a raise. However…” he said, and ruffled her hair playfully, “you - my little devil - should learn to manage your allowances more, otherwise next month I won’t be so generous.”

She hugged him again, squeezing tight. “Thanks Papa, love you.”

“Love you too, Yen.”

Yen went back to her own bedroom and tried to go to sleep. It took many tosses and turns, and when she finally fell into unconsciousness, she dreamt of the sun being blotted out by fumes of black smoke. She woke up gasping.

* * *

Officially, Gisele was her personal assistant. Unofficially, Byronai hired Gisele to be Yen’s bodyguard. It was an open secret that somewhere along the line, Gisele became Yen’s girlfriend. She had feared that her father would disapprove, but to this date, he only alluded to the knowledge of their relationship and she felt no displeasure in his voice.

Today, the Terrace was lovely. The Terrace was a frequent haunt of Yen’s, an upscale restaurant at the heart of Celanon’s shopping district, and it had never failed to impress her with its gourmet meals and flawless service. Yen had ordered the usual: a tartare of marinated mutton, snacks of honeycomb biscuits, desserts of Jogan fruit cakes, and cups of coffee with berry-flavored cream.

Gisele saw Yen gazing out of the window. The sky was blue today, like something out of an idyllic painting. Suddenly, she saw flashes of white as a flock of birds flew past them, their feathers as white as the clouds in the distance. Yen was watching the birds through the glass pane too, with her eyes doe-like, enraptured by the flaps of their wings.

“We could fly off like the birds,” Gisele said, a whimsical lilt to her voice. “You and me, on one of your dad’s fancy spaceships, with the infiniteness of the universe to explore.”

“The neverending void of space sounds fun, but Celanon is nice in its own quirky way too,” Yen replied. “I’m happy here.”

“Are you really, though?”

“Am I really what?”

“Happy- with the way things are, I mean,” Gisele said. “Don’t you want something more?”

Yen paused. There was a plea in Gisele’s violet eyes, she noticed. She wasn’t sure what answer Gisele wanted to hear, what she was meant to say. 

“People would kill to be in my place, to have all of  _ this _ ,” Yen gestured vaguely to the rings on her fingers, to her dress that could be sold for a year’s worth of income, to the overpriced food and the opulent restaurant. “I’m not ungrateful.”

Yen almost jumped at the sudden noise, as Gisele placed her coffee onto the table louder than anticipated.

“For kriff’s sake Yen,” Gisele scowled. “Will you stop… performing? Acting? Or whatever is it that you do. It’s just us here: if you can’t be honest with me then at least be honest with yourself.”

She gaped, feeling heat rising in her cheeks. She felt her breathing becoming shallower, faster, the accusation of insincerity eating at her. Yen pressed her lips into a thin line, a callous expression settling onto her face. She lifted her chin up, and was about to bark back a retort when a resounding explosion blasted somewhere in the distance. Yen gasped, clutching her hands against the edges of the table for support, the force of what sounded like a bomb reveterbrating in her bones.

Gisele was on her feet in an instant, her arms wrapped around Yen’s shoulders as she attempted to reorient herself. Yen looked outside of the window, and saw the unmistakable billowing fumes of smoke rising up into the sky.

“Something bad must’ve happened,” Gisele muttered, her holo blinking red in her pockets. “We gotta go back home, get you into a panic room.”

Yen felt herself being dragged by the arms out of the restaurant. She followed Gisele’s steps, trying her best to keep up with the woman’s brisk pace. Yet, as soon as they left the building and got onto a speeder and began riding through the streets, Yen’s stomach dropped in a nauseating swoop.

The sky, which moments ago was a perfect blue, had now turned grey. Yen could no longer see the garish ball of sun that used to shine above her. She wrapped her arms tighter around Gisele’s torso as they rode their way past the hysterical crowds, weaving their path through the chaos. Her heart pounded, and the nearer they got to their destination, the thicker the smoke was. The realization crashed onto Yen; it took everything in her not to screech out a strangled cry.

The smoke was coming from their home.

Their home, the multi-storey skyscraper that embodied the decadence and technological superiority of Celanon, now laid ruined at her feet. The building itself had been broken in half, like a stick snapped in the middle, the top half reduced to rubbles and the remaining skeleton barely holding on.

“Papa!” Yen cried. “Gisele, where’s Papa?”

Yen began running before Gisele could stop her. She sidestepped the piles of burning wreckage, holding her breath against the acidic fumes. She could hear Gisele calling from behind, but by the time the Togruta caught up, Yen had arrived inside the reception hall. She stifled a scream when she felt Gisele’s hands covering her mouth, silencing her.

She twisted her head around, and saw Gisele glaring. Her bodyguard seemed to be commanding her to s _ top panicking, and think! _

It was then she realized: there were sounds of movements nearby.

The both of them rushed to the nearest pillar, the nearest hiding place and pressed themselves against the surface, trying to blend in with the shadows. Yen tried to slow her breathing, to calm the quivers in her hands and the shivering of her body. Their home was burning, but worse than that was the sickening stench of copper, like a horrible blend of iron and rust. The smell reeked through the air, and Yen forced herself not to gag. She felt Gisele’s hand clasping her own.

A blaster fire- it was the sound she recognized instantly, a familiar noise that she was used to hearing from the fights between her father’s henchmen and other bands of mobsters. Suddenly, the noise became more rapid, and Yen perked up as she discerned the source of the sounds. There was a fight going on, somewhere on the balcony upstairs.

Gisele locked her in an iron-vice grip.

“Don’t,” the Togruta whispered. “We have to leave- now!”

Yen moaned in protest, but quickly shut up the second she heard footsteps coming down the main grand staircase. She eyed the doorway which she came in from, readying her legs to make the run for it before more men would arrive. She heard the sounds of rifle blasts, of more kinds of gunnery firing nearby. Yen ran-

And stumbled on her first step when she heard Papa’s voice.

Yen whirled around, her hair whipping against her face at the sudden movement. Her mouth hung open, and she could feel the sting of ears burning in her eyes, the edges of her vision blurring as her throat tightened in a painful knot. She’d recognize her father’s voice anywhere.

“Bastards!” Byronai swore. “I’ll kill you all!”

Byronai stood at the top of the staircase, leaning heavily against the railing for support. He was bleeding, a cut somewhere on the left of his forehead was gushing with blood, the liquid running down his face. His left arm hung limply against his body, for it too was crippled in the struggle and rendered useless. In his right hand he gripped his trusted blaster, but its firepower was not enough, not against a group of seven well-armed Black Sun operatives.

Yen could only watch, her body frozen in place, as two blaster bolts went through her father’s chest, and a goon wielding a vibrosword rushed forward and impaled him through the gut, skewering him like a pig. It was only Gisele’s hand, clamped over Yen’s mouth, that prevented Yen from screaming out.

The man pulled the blade from Byronai’s body. Yen saw the glee in his eyes, the psychotic twinkle that sparkled in those ice blue eyes as he raised the blade up in the air once more and swung it across her father’s neck, separating the head from the body with the ease of slicing through paper. With a cybernetic hand coated in slick red, the man grabbed onto her father’s head and held it like a proud trophy. With his feet encased in jet black boots, he kicked the remaining headless corpse down the stairs, until it tumbled down the steps like discarded trash blowing in the wind.

Yen’s gaze flicked up and down, back and forth between her father’s head at the top of the staircase and his lifeless body sitting at the base of the stairs.

The wail that was ripped from her throat didn’t sound like her own. It came from the deepest fit of her stomach, strained with an agony she did not know she was capable of feeling. Even Gisele’s hand over her mouth failed to prevent the mournful sound from leaking out.

They were spotted.

Amid the shouts, the orders from the goon in charge commanding his men to shoot them down, Gisele dragged Yen to the nearest cover. Yen was shaking.

“Yen- Yen! I need you to focus!” Gisele gripped the sides of her Yen’s with both hands.

“Papa-”

“I know! We have to go- no,” Gisele said. “You have to run. I’ll buy you time.”

“What?”

“Go!”

“What- no!”

Before Yen could process those words, she felt Gisele’s lips crashing against hers. Gisele had always been reluctant to initiate, and even then the intensity of her kisses had always matched Yen’s own level, never going beyond it. The Togruta had acted like there was a glass pane between them, a bound she was hesitant to cross. Now, the glass had shattered. Gisele’s kiss was ferocious.

Yen felt like shards of glass were stabbing at her heart.

As quick as it came, Yen was shoved away. Gisele turned around and ran towards the men shooting from the staircase, a blaster brandished in her hand.

Yen knew she had to run too. Ignoring the burning in her eyes, the way her heart was beating so fast she thought it would burst and kill her there and then, she sprinted towards the entranceway: it felt like she was running away from hell and was not allowed to look back, lest fate somehow punish her for it. Her feet crossed over the threshold of the door of her former home, and she continued running.

She was panting. The smoke was still billowing, its fumes suffocating in its thickness and weight. The smoke had darkened the sky so much that it felt like night time, only without the comforting light of the moon or the shining jewels of the stars. Yen felt her shoe being caught on some rubble, some sharp edge of stone or metal. She wasn’t sure if her feet were wet with sweat or bleeding from a cut.

She kept running.

Her feet ached, but she continued running.

Until her path was blocked.

A group of mobsters, armed with similar weapons and dressed in the recognizable uniform of the Black Sun, was standing before her like a barbed wall. There were dozens of them- she was undeniably outnumbered. Yen considered rushing forward, allowing them to riddle her body with blaster holes, but the image of her beheaded father popped into her mind like an unwanted, intrusive nightmare.

Her father would not want her to be slaughtered too.

Instead, she simply paused, standing still before the men. It felt like she was standing in the eye of the storm, with  _ something _ swirling all around her, like hungry sharks circling a drop of blood.

_ Was she the hunter or the meal? The devourer or the feast? _

Her arms felt compelled to move, as if pulled by invisible strings. She raised both arms up, palms opened and pointed towards the men standing before her, their blasters trained on her. Her hands were tingling, as if static was building at her fingertips, like lightning was coursing through her veins.

A burst of power burst from her hands and blasted the men to the ground, their bodies slamming against the concrete, bones shattering upon impact.

“Don’t shoot!”

She caught one of the men ordering the rest of his squad to stand down. Yen’s vision clouded at the edge and it felt like the breath was knocked out of her lungs. Dark dots danced around and eventually consumed her sight. Like a puppet with its string suddenly cut, Yen fainted, collapsing into a pile of frail limbs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yen gets thrown into slavery, eventually frees herself but was found by the Sith and taken to be trained at Korriban.
> 
> "In the garden, meditate upon moths in Flight."  
> \- Khiazmos

Subject: Found a specimen

Encrypted message to: Phuthar the Hutt

From: KG

Many months ago you have made inquiries on whether we have any Force-sensitives for sale. Now, we are glad to inform you that we have one specimen available. Her name is Yennevyr Airen, daughter of Byronai Airen, the notorious leader of the Exchange on Celanon who is now eliminated. His daughter has been captured alive and unharmed, for she has displayed Force abilities against many of my men.

Her price, as disclosed in the attached contract detailing the transference of ownership, is significant. You must understand that this is due to her previous social standing and her role as heir to the Exchange legacy: many other individuals have expressed interest in either buying her and freeing her, or somehow using her as a pawn to further their agenda. However, as you are an old and loyal customer of our services, the Black Sun would be honored to sell her to you- should you wish to purchase her.

We look forward to hearing your reply.

* * *

Subject: Re: Found a specimen

Encrypted message to: KG

From: Phuthar the Hutt

Contract accepted. I have made my digital signature and attached the proof of payment.

Deliver my purchase as soon as possible.

* * *

Subject: Purchase review

Encrypted message to: KG

From: Phuthar the Hutt

Dear KG,

Like always, you deliver! I have never been more elated in my entire life!

Yennevyr is  _ lovely,  _ you should have warned me of how beautiful she was! At the age of 19, she is ripe and perfect to be trained. And my, oh my, her Force powers are raw and untamed! She could barely control them, but instinct seems to activate them whenever I had my men threaten her. Such dangerous, barely-restrained powers bubbling underneath her skin, like a keg ready to explode at any moment. I have no doubts that should she become a Jedi - or heaven forbid, a Sith - she’d have my head on a platter. She’d leave corpses in her wake, a trial of smoking destruction behind her footsteps.

And yet, she is  _ mine. _ Mine to control.

Words cannot capture how much joy this purchase has given me. I am very pleased.

* * *

Imperial report no. 73786A-B

Re: Operation Hyoscyamus

Reporting officer: Watcher Thirteen

[...] To conclude, the operation as led by Lord Xarion with the assistance of several Intelligence personnel has been a great success. The only point of note is the discovery of a potential Sith who crossed paths with Lord Xarion during the mission.

Lord Xarion was intending to either bribe or interrogate Phuthar the Hutt for information on the operation’s target, only to be informed that the aforementioned Hutt was already recently deceased. His palace was left in chaos after his demise, with hired mooks pillaging the location for any valuables they could loot. Lord Xarion claimed to have sensed another Force-presence in the vicinity, and in his search stumbled upon the blackened corpse of Phuthar the Hutt. The body - noticeably large - was presumably burnt and lit aflame, judging from the lingering scent of gasoline present in the air coupled with the scorch marks on the floors and walls, and similar fire damage visible on all the nearby furnitures. Lord Xarion has concluded that the actual fire was mundane, but the struggle that occurred beforehand was Force-assisted: the murderer was definitely Force-sensitive, leaning towards the dark side of the Force.

We found the person who we assumed to be responsible for the incident sitting slumped against the wall on the corridor near the room of the crime scene. Lord Xarion had mentioned that she reeked of homicide, the Force rolling off her in thick, wine-dark waves. In the end, he decided to use his rights as a Lord to have the Force-sensitive woman be sent to Korriban Academy to be trained as a Sith acolyte. The data of her slave profile has been forwarded to the administrators of the Korriban Academy in preparation for her transfer.

* * *

Acolyte ID: KB-002367-S

Name: Yennevyr Airen

Parents: Byronai Airen (father), Liliya Tsuiri (mother)

Age: 22

The acolyte was a slave who once belonged to the now deceased Phuthar the Hutt. Preliminary examinations have concluded that she is in relatively good physical health, although lacking in the muscles or body strength necessary for Sith training. Her attitude so far has been meek and demure. She had complied to all instructions, but only the bare minimum. She shows no resistance, but also no initiative or any hint of strong emotions or passion as desired in the ideal acolyte. She has been allocated to train under Overseer Harkun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... the original draft was much longer but I didn't want the fic to become torture porn. Slavery, in real life, is horrible. I don't want to cheapen it by writing an edgy chapter out of it, so here we are.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yen is now an acolyte at the Korriban Academy.
> 
> "The Faces of the Dead will look upon you, Sooth-sayer."  
> \- Khiazmos

The heat was oppressive. Yen would love nothing more than to strip herself bare, to take off the robes that suffocated her and jump headfirst into a pond of cool water. Except, she doubted such luxury existed here on Korriban. She heaved a sigh and allowed herself to fall back, her body collapsing into the sandy dunes as if it was a bed of goose-feather pillows. It certainly did not feel like one. The red sun beat down on her, and the topmost layer of her skin burned.

And then came a shadow casted by a figure that blocked out the sun. She saw a familiar woman’s face with black hair, tied up in a delicate style.

“You better get up now. Believe me, death by heat stroke isn’t pretty.”

All Yen could comprehend was how cool the shade felt.

She felt Malora drag her up by the shoulders, her tight grip unknowingly pinching into the old bruises that still bloomed purple and green. Yen winced, but a small smile still crept upon her face. How long has it been, since she was last fussed over? The woman dabbed a cool, wet cloth across Yen’s skin, the gesture somehow more invigorating than the actual coolness of the cloth. She sneaked a glance at Malora: her red lips were pursed into a thin line, her brows furrowing.

“Did you get the brains? How are you even like  _ this _ \- you were supposed to go underground, heat shouldn’t be a problem there.”

“I got lost in the Lower Wilds, and ran out of water,” Yen said with a shrug. She dug two tuk'ata brains out of her satchel, ignoring the slimy texture of the organs in her hand.

“Lost? You’ve been here long enough to not get  _ lost _ by now, to know that the elements may kill you before other acolytes could… And Renning didn’t give you a container? The specimen’s going to be contaminated!” Malora began ranting. Something about the way her cheeks flushed when she was vexed, the way her eyes squinted in the heat of passion made Yen’s smile widen.

The brains looked like molten jelly left outside in the sun for too long, yet Malora stared at them as if they were a rare archeological find, an artifact worth the price of a civilization. The price of freedom.

“They’re still usable, right?”

Malora's attention snapped back towards her. “Yes, yes they are.”

Yen wished that instead of having the current conversation sitting on top of red, rough sands under the garish sun, it would instead be night time. She wished for a splatter of stars shining in the dark sky, like soft lanterns illuminating the two of them down below. Under the moonlight, the orange sands looked almost white, like snow. She wished for trees full of colorful leaves, not like the naked, dead trees that littered the desert.

“Thank you,” Malora said. There was a lack of edge in her voice, no sneer colouring her tone. Her voice was soft. Malora’s face was back-lit by the sun, the light seeming like a halo around her head.

“Keep the credits,” Yen said, the words spilling out before she could help herself. “Just remember me when you are a lord. You owe me one.”

“And I expect you to collect,” Malora said. “Survive long enough to witness my ascension.”

* * *

If Yen was ever certain of something in her life, it was the fact that she was not a warrior.

She raised her training saber in the air, like a bat in front of her face, only to have it swatted away as if it was a toy sword. Her arms and hands trembled, barely managing to hold onto the hilt of her blade. The Sith Pureblood stepped forward just as she stepped back, trying to maneuver away from him, dodging his blows by the inches. Yen attempted a roll to the side, only to find his blade smacking her ankles. The final attack landed right on the arch of her back. She unceremoniously fell onto the stone floors of the training ground as she let out a pained cry.

“Pathetic,” Ffon shook his head. The win was not even worth gloating about.

With the battle over, the training session was concluded. She saw Harkun making his way over to the red-skinned Sith, clapping and showering him with praises. Harkun made Ffon hold out his grip before the overseer assisted the boy in adjusting the way the hilt sat in his hands. Yen stood up, with aching legs, and walked away, attempting not to hear the way the Overseer offered critiques on Ffon’s combat forms. There was no doubt Ffon was receiving special treatment.

The rest of the acolytes were slowly dispersing but some stayed to practice longer in pairs or threes, while others stalked away into the shadows to find a good meditation spot. Harkun was still mentoring Ffon, not caring about the blatant bias he was showing. Yen had thought perhaps it was just some psychological ploy to encourage jealousy and competition among the cohort. Now, she knew better.

They were told that out of this motley group of slaves and aliens, only one will survive. Harkun had a survivor in mind, and it wasn’t her.

Yen stomped her way out of the training grounds and made her way to the shade of another stone building. As it appeared, this whole planet seemed to be composed of stone and sands. Gingerly, she sat down in a cross-legged position, leaning back against the wall of a crumbling structure. She heaved a sigh, her mind recalling the words Malora once told her.

“I love meditating,” Yen remembered Malora saying. “I was never a good duelist, but I could meditate and  _ think _ . I could outthink my enemies, and that’s all that matters.”

Yen closed her eyes and tried to quiet her mind.

All she could think was that she was not smart like Malora, nor strong like Ffon. Even her beauty - and really, was she beautiful in the past or merely rich and well-dressed? - seemed to have failed her, for she was unable to conjure up that burning confidence and unattainability that granted her the magnetism she wanted to portray. There was nobody here for her to charm, for her to use as a human sword and shield. Seduction had no place on the battlefield, not when a saber hung above her neck like a guillotine.

Yen squeezed her eyes tighter, attempting to block out the light that bore through her eyelids.

_ Breathe in. Breathe out. _

Her hands still trembled, whether it be from post-combat adrenaline or the bubbling frustration, she did not know.

_ Breathe in. Breathe out. _

Yen thought, if she opened her eyes right now, her usually brown-black eyes would be a toxic green, like poison, like envy. The green would drip down from her pupils, like the sticky, spilled nectar of some carnivorous flower. She pictured her hands becoming a sickly, arsenic green color, and she wished she could press those hands on top of Ffon’s mouth and nose, and let him choke on the toxic paint fumes. The sounds of his gags and gasps for air rung clear in her imagination.

Yen’s eyes flew open.

Meditation wasn’t doing her any good; she needed to get away from here.

Her feet seemed to have a mind of its own. She dragged her feet through the sands which were now cooler, as the sun was slowly sinking over the horizon. Her boots were worn out from the three years she had been on Korriban, and she could sense tiny grains of sands inside her shoes.

Yen wasn’t sure where she was going. The sky was a pale purple color with a wash of orange where the sun was setting. She could see a moon high up above her head, its surface so pale and white like bleached bones. The winds that blew were still as dry as ever- at least it was a gentle breeze, not like a nightmarish sandstorm she had once encountered. She brushed a strand of black hair from her eye, and continued walking.

She heard something shrieking in this distance. The nocturnal beasts of Korriban were stirring awake, and Yen quickened the pace of her feet.

Then she stopped.

Yen didn’t know why, but it felt like she had walked on quicksand despite the fact that there was nothing physically different about the ground here. Something pulled her to this spot, planted her feet onto the sands. Curious, she sat down, and plunged her palms into the grains. She closed her eyes.

_ Breathe in. Breathe out. _

Out of nowhere, there was a hard knot in her throat, a tightening sensation in her chest. Her fingers began quivering. A bloodcurdling wail.

She was screaming.

Yen withdrew her hand from the sands, as if the rough grains had burnt her. She closed her lips, stopping the scream that did not feel like it came from her. The voice was too shrill, colored by an anguish much too intense than anything she had allowed herself to feel in the past. She was no longer screaming, but she still heard it like a warhorn in her mind. Yen stood up, shaking her feet free from the sands, and made a run back to the Korriban academy.

That night, she dreamt of blue and green and red flashes, the sounds of lightsabers clashing, and then darkness. She woke up wailing, her own cries mixed with the shouts from a fellow acolyte telling her to shut up.

The next morning they resumed their training. She was paired up with some gangy male Zabrak who looked like he had not eaten in days. She remembered how the Zabrak had red skin and a full face when they both first arrived on Korriban on the same shuttle, like pigs being delivered to the butcher. The Zabrak’s skin had faded to a dull crimson, with tinges of grey. The years had not been kind to him. He looked worse than she did, which was  _ something _ .

The Zabrak was weak, worn down by the years on Korriban and the constant stress of survival. She could overwhelm him in an unexpectedly strong attack, a fierce start that would demoralize him. Yen tightened her grip on her training saber, and stepped one foot back, readying to pounce.

When Harkun cried ‘fight!’, Yen jumped.

She swung her saber in a large arc forward, watching as the Zabrak stumbled back, almost tripping on his feet in an attempt to dodge her attack. Yen pushed further in his direction, slashing the blade once, and then twice. The third time, he parried it with his own blade, and Yen spun around, breaking the lock he had on her. She immediately turned on her heels and gave a swing at his thigh, just as he was still recovering from the last move.

Yen made a swipe at his saber, disarming him, and quickly thrusted her blade into the center of his chest, the sudden impact shoving him into a crumpled mess on the ground.

She held a blade at his neck.

She won.

Yen glanced back at Harkun. She wasn’t sure what she expected to see on his face, but Harkun was scowling.

“Ffon!” Harkun barked out. “Show her how a true Sith fights.”

Ffon’s teeth were gleaming: his predatory smile showed a sadistic sickness that made Yen’s blood boil.

“I thought this round was over!” she cried.

“In real life there are no  _ rounds,  _ girl,” Harkun sneered. “Besides, you should be grateful I’m allowing you more practice, giving you more training than you deserve.”

Yen steadied her heels, raising her saber in what she recalled was a defensive stance. Ffon’s blade slammed into hers like a sledgehammer- she didn’t even hear Harkun yell ‘start’. She stumbled back, but quickly regained her stance. Yen’s arms were already aching from the previous efforts she spent against the Zabrak. Her legs trembled.

The battle was over in less than thirty seconds, with her blade slipping from her grasp and her back laid prone on the training grounds. She could hear Ffon snickering.

When she saw Malora again, Malora laughed. 

“Don’t think too much of it- Ffon’s a Sith Pureblood,” Malora said. “Do you know how far a Pureblood must fall for him to be grouped among the same cohort as you? No offense, of course.”

Yen smiled. Had anyone else say it, she might have felt a twinge of hurt and a wrath like towers of flames rising within her. She knew what she was.

Malora had a point though. As she understood it, the Sith Pureblood were supposed to be the pinnacle of Sith society, the highest social strata one had to be born into. For him to be dueling with  _ her  _ rather than sons of Imperial admirals or daughters of Darths must have seemed like a disgrace in his eyes. The anger in him must burn just as furiously as the fury in her.

“He has a chip on his shoulder,” Yen said. “That much is obvious.”

“Yes, but what I don’t think you realize is how Sith training isn’t supposed to be like  _ this _ .”

Yen raised a brow.

“For better or worse, Harkun is actually tougher on your cohort than I heard he was on the usual Imperial groups he taught in the past,” Malora explained. “All the while, he’s undertraining you too.”

“Undertraining?”

“There’s more to being a Sith than surviving tombs after tombs, robbing artefacts after artefacts. Yen, he’s weeding you out,” Malora said. “I suppose it builds character, but that is still not  _ training _ .”

“Well, I don’t care about being Sith. I just want to survive!”

Malora looked like she was about to say something, but then quickly closed her mouth. Yen knew that look: tight eyes looking down on her, lips curved a tiny bit downwards. It was a look somewhere between disdain at her lack of ambitions and pity at her attempt to cling onto life. Yen looked away. The least she could give Malora was the truth: she doesn’t give a damn about the Sith code that spoke of abstract doctrines and beliefs that sounded alien to her ears. She certainly would not blink if the Sith Empire burned to the ground. Yen just didn’t want to die- not yet, not here, and definitely not like _ this _ .

“If you can’t fight, then hide.”

Yen glanced back at Malora. Her voice held no signs of mockery; Malora was just making a simple statement. A strange twinkle danced in her eyes.

“That’s my advice to you, Yen. Learn how to Force cloak- it’ll get you far.”

* * *

Yen spent the next two weeks practicing how to make her body disappear and getting bruised up from lost brawls and battles. She could make her arms turn invisible for a minute or so, and her entire body for less than that. Each attempt left her exhausted, making her weaker for the upcoming physical training, leading to losses which injured her body further, which made Force training even more tiring. It was a frustrating cycle.

According to Harkun, their penultimate trial will be within less than ten days. Graduation was too soon.

To make things worse, Malora had left Korriban alongside her master. Lord Renning had been summoned for ‘questioning’ on his current research, news that Malora told Yen with glee in her eyes. It wouldn’t be long now before the fruits of Malora’s labour would be reaped, her sabotage complete at last.

Before Malora departed, Yen had asked her about the strange experience she had many moons ago. Yen found herself walking back to the peculiar spot of the Korriban desert. 

She dug her hands and feet into the sands, burrowing herself in the ground like a halfway, makeshift grave. She closed her eyes, as if she was falling into a light nap. Like previously, Yen soon found herself screeching, wretched cries ripped from her throat until she was left bawling on the rough sands that scratched her skin like glass shards. It felt like tears were being tugged from her eyes, the salty wetness spilling down her cheeks, never ceasing no matter how many times she wiped them away with her drenched sleeves.

These emotions were not her own.

Yen forced herself to slow down her breath, to breathe in, then out, then in again but at her own pace, exerting her own will. She recalled the advice she was given, attempting to feel her body from the top of her head to the tip of her toes, to feel the weight of her own existence and erect a shield around it. She snapped her eyes shut, envisioning and strengthening the invisible barricade around herself.

The emotions receded.

Her eyes flew open, and just like before, all she could see was an endless stretch of red sand. However, she was now acutely aware of the piles and piles of corpses buried below her, the flesh and bones swallowed up by the Korriban desert. Most importantly, Yen now sensed the restless dead that wailed since centuries ago.

This very spot marked the ground zero of the Sith massacre that occurred on Korriban, immediately after the Great Hyperspace War. On the night before she left Korriban once and for all, Malora had given her a brief history lesson in a voice more somber than any she had heard the woman spoke. She understood now, her nightmares those following nights were horrific memories of the last days of many lives.

_ Do Force ghosts ever move on? _ Yen wondered.  _ Or, do the screams of their final moments just keep echoing again and again until perhaps millennia later, their voices eventually grow quieter and quieter until they become just a whisper, and then silence? _

She dug her hands deeper into the sands, feeling roasted under Korriban’s blistering sun. With her eyes closed, she felt wispy fingers curling around her own. She felt the ghosts reaching back. Her throat was parched, even though moments ago she just had a glass of water. The thirst wasn’t hers, just like how the agony and grief she felt wasn’t completely hers.

Yen unclasped her flask from her belt. She pried the lids open and poured half of its content down into her mouth, feeling the water fall from her lips down to her throat, down to the depth of her belly and continuing to fall down and down into a bottomless pit that wasn’t her own.  _ Drench the ghosts _ , Yen thought.  _ No one should be thirsty and in so much pain.  _ When she drank enough of the flask that she felt nausea bubbling, she poured the rest of the water down into the sands. As she watched the sands grow darker as it was soaked with water, she envisioned little cool droplets spilling down below, dripping down the rocky crevices beneath the earth and falling like rain into whatever gaping void rested beneath her feet.

She tried to ignore the image of her father’s headless body, the nagging, gnawing question of how may he drink without lips. Was his head still detached in death too?

Moments passed. Yen slowly stood up, brushing the sands from her acolyte robes. She clasped her flask back to her belt and began walking home, only pausing mid-step when she heard a voice in her head that sounded less like words and more like an impression of a memory. She saw an image of a gnarly tree: she recognized the tree as standing at the back entrance of the Korriban academy. She felt the instructions in the back of her skull.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and trekked back to her halls.

The night before the penultimate trial, Yen sneaked out of bed. With feather-light footsteps, she made her way to the tree she once thought was dead. It stood like a behemoth before her, some grim monument of the desert. The light of the bone-white moon only emphasized the texture of its bark, looking like weathered, leathery grey skin.

_ When the moon is at its zenith, seduce a leaf from a tree. _

Yen pressed her forehead against the ancient tree, leaning into the wood. She could imagine Papa standing in front of her, and that she was resting her head on his chest, sinking into the rise and fall of his breathing.

“Oh awe-inspiring tree, you are a survivor. The earth feeds you, the once-a-decade rain waters you, and you survive. In spite of the war, the massacre, the time and the weather and everything that says otherwise, you still  _ live.  _ Even if you don’t look like it, I know you breathe and feel just as I do,” Yen murmured, the words partly planned, partly spurred from the passion of the moment. “Like you, I want to survive. I don’t know why I want to live, but I know that I don’t want to die here, to be slain by the hands of strangers on a land foreign to me.”

Yen only heard silence. She basked in the quiet.

“Help me, please.”

She took a breath and then looked up, blinking her eyes against the garish moonlight. There it was: a baby-green leaf, like the first greens of spring.

Suddenly, the wind roared. She felt grains of sand getting into her eyes but quickly blinked them away. She saw the leaf being ripped from its branch by the wind, and like a girl jumping to catch a falling star, she caught it before the wind blew it away.

“Thank you- thank you so much.”

Yen rushed back to her room, clutching the leaf in her hand. She recalled how Malora once held those tuk'ata brains like they were the heirloom treasures, and laughed. If only Malora could see her now, clinging to a leaf like it was a lifeline.

The next morning, at the first break of dawn, Yen began grinding the leaf with a stolen kitchen bowl and a pestle adapted from desert rocks. Looking around, when she was sure nobody was watching, she nicked the tip of her thumb on her training saber and let drops of blood spill onto the leaf to form a paste. She wrapped the paste in a handmade sachet, stitched together from old bandages, and placed it gingerly in her pockets.

The trial followed the same structure as most other trials: break into a Dark Lord’s tomb, steal an artifact (this time a crown), and return.

Yen could walk the tombs blind. Breaking in was easy, the trouble lied in the main hall where the sarcophagus encasing the artifact rested in. Dozens of mummified corpses and ancient droids frozen in dusty time lined the walls. Her senses were tingling, and Yen was certain the moment she lifted the sarcophagus lid open, those defenses would come to life.

She waited until the other acolytes finally arrived after her.

The Zabrak rushed in first, followed by a human boy with burn marks across his face and a girl with dark circles around her eyes. Ffon stalked after them, and like a killer in the dark, struck the human boy and the girl down like they were practice dolls. Both the Zabrak and Ffon had their training blades out, their stance a mix of defensive and threatening. Ffon turned part of his attention towards Yen and smirked at her, a taunt in his glare, daring her to draw her weapon and fight.

To their bewilderment, Yen reached for the sachet and smeared the paste between her brow. She felt it melting into her skin.

“What do you think you are doing?” Ffon snarled.

She dropped the sachet onto the floor and with both hands, pushed the sarcophagus lid open.

_ Anoint yourself like the old ones did, and you will be empty air to the living and the dead. _

The droids and the mummified soldiers began stirring, their weapons igniting. In the same moment, Yen felt cold shadows crawl over her skin, like black smoke twisting around her limbs, obscuring every inch of her being until she was nonexistent. It felt like the Force cloak she had attempted to don so many times in the past, but instead of leaving her drained, the cold invigorated her.

A droid shot ancient bolts at the Zabrak shoulder, and Yen winced, hearing his yelp. It didn’t matter: she had to get moving. Reaching her hand into the sarcophagus, she found the rusty crown. Just as she saw Ffon getting trapped in a duel with two reanimated Sith Lords, Yen slipped out of the tomb, treasure in hand.

The Force cloak faded away by the time she reached the Korriban academy.

The look on Harkun’s face was worth all suffering.

“You!” He spluttered, as if she had no name. “Where’s Ffon? Where’s everyone else?”

Yen felt heat rising in her at the mention of Ffon’s name. She was about to answer when the doors burst open, and in came a panting, disheveled Sith Pureblood.

“She cheated!” Ffon yelled. “The slave- she cheated! She must’ve gotten outside help.”

Harkun’s raised his brow. She had expected anger, following the shock and perplexion, but instead she saw curiosity. Ffon would not stop screaming, and Yen glared at him. If only she could shoot a knife through her left eye and into his brain.

“I saw her talking to that other girl. That- that woman. Lord Renning’s apprentice.”

Yen’s eyes flared.

“Don’t drag Malora into this!” she snapped.

Ffon drew his saber, and that was when Harkun stepped between the two of them.

“Enough of this childishness!” Harkun’s command was absolute. Yen glimpsed a steel under his words, a sharpness that was different to the usual intimidatory tactics he used. “I assume that aside from the two of you, the others are dead, yes?”

Ffon nodded, and crossed his arms.

“Then the final trial will be between the two of you. Bad news: Lord Zash had withdrawn her interest in your cohort, apparently having found an acolyte from a slave pen of all places,” Harkun said. “But no matter- I am certain another Lord will find potential in you.”

With that last word, Yen saw him turning his gaze towards Ffon. Her grip shook and tightened, the metal of the rusty crown pricking into her palm. The pain only fueled her anger.

“Do you want the crown, my lord?” She allowed the venom to leak into the title of lord, letting her vehement disgust show plainly through her tone. Yen was ready to slam the artifact into the ground, letting it shatter into pieces as tiny and numerous as the Korriban sands.

“Yes, what a stupid question-” 

Yen dropped the crown onto the floor, turned her back to him and strutted out of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange alliance, and a test. Yen seeks attention.
> 
> "Where there is a Fire, I must burn."  
> \- Khiazmos

A swipe to the left, then a shift of the left foot to the right. Twist around, and swipe to the right.

Yen ignored the thin sheen of sweat that lined her forward as she repeated the repertoire of moves. Her body still ached as much as never, and she felt each dull throb deep in her muscles and bones, but practice felt natural now. It had to be: her movements had to be instinctual if she wished to survive. Harkun refused to tell them what the final trial was, claiming he would not plan out the trial until a Sith had shown interest in either her or Ffon. If it came down to a duel between the two of them, she was not sure if she could win.

The thought made her slam her blade to the ground, a satisfying sound echoing upon the impact.

She heard footsteps behind her.

Yen whirled around, her mouth creasing into a thin line upon seeing Ffon saunter in her direction. The Sith Pureblood raised two palms in a placating manner.

“I’m not here for trouble,” Ffon said, and Yen noted the insult missing from the phrase. “I just want to make an offer.”

“An offer?” Yen raised her brow, placing one hand on her hip.

“Yes. You will answer one question, and I’ll answer one question of yours.”

Yen sheathed her training saber, and glared at Ffon who showed no reaction. The trademark sneer on his face was missing. She cocked her head.

“Sure. I’ll play your game.”

Then came the smirk. Yen felt anger igniting in her- but then it halted, like an engine put on pause. Ffon looked smug, yet there was no malicious glint in his eyes. She glanced around, still seeing nothing else out of the ordinary. Gingerly, she stepped forward, her arms crossed over her chest.

Ffon’s smile dropped, seriousness taking over. “Where did you learn to do what you did in the tomb?”

Yen scoffed. “Weren’t you accusing Malora of helping me earlier?”

A scowl twisted Ffon’s face into an ugly expression Yen felt surprisingly relieved to see. This angry, haughty Ffon was familiar to her, not whatever facade Ffon attempted to portray earlier.

“Yes, but I was wrong, wasn’t I? You agreed to the deal, now answer me!”

She rolled her eyes, even if the corners of her lips perked up. Ffon, furious and demanding, she could understand.

“The sands told me,” Yen said. “Well, not the sands, but whatever lies beneath them. The bones. The ghosts.”

Ffon looked like he wanted to argue, to call her bluff, but the words she had waited to hear never came out of his mouth. He spluttered some half-formed accusations at her, lacking the usual venom she’d been prepared for. Noticing the opportunity for speech, Yen began reciting the story she told Malora, her experiences communing with the dead of Korriban. Rendering Ffon stunned made Yen want to laugh out in maniac glee.

“You’re a  _ slave _ ,” Ffon finally spat. “There is no drop of Sith blood in your veins-”

“I said my piece,” Yen interrupted, her voice hardening. “Whether you call me a liar is your problem, not mine. It’s my turn now.”

Ffon’s fingers twitched, briefly reaching for the blade on his hips before recoiling. Yen narrowed her eyes, noting the rapid rise and falls of his chest, the slight tremble in his chin. Ffon had always been a crackling ball of red hot emotions, but the rawness of his reaction gave her a pause. It was like she had dragged her nails across upon some screeching, exposed nerve of his.

“Ffon?”

“Fine!” his voice felt like an explosion, almost making her jump. He gritted his teeth. “What do you want to know?”

Yen was surprised he didn’t straight up betray his own words. There were no contracts, no electrified chains keeping him here to answer her.

_ What happened to you?  _ Yen wanted to ask. She pictured a red-skinned boy falling from the skies, like a comet burning up in the atmosphere.  _ Your very skin should’ve meant that, in this world, you are above me. But you’re here, with me. So how did you fall? _

Yen yearned to hear the cracks in his voice, the agony leaking through his pompous facade, like blood gushing through a broken artery. She wanted to hear his pain as he recalled the darkest parts of his life, to listen to a desperate tale of tragedy like something out of an operatic melodrama. She wanted to see him at his worst.

“How do I use Force speed?” Yen asked instead. “Tell me how Harkun taught you that, because he certainly didn’t teach  _ me _ .”

If Ffon was relieved at the relatively easy question, he did not show it.

* * *

Yen stared hard at the crumbled statue at the far end of the corridor, protected by rhythmic flashes of lightning, conducted by the metal poles that lined the tomb’s halls. She envisioned herself directly facing the statue, her feet planted inches away from it. The Force swirled within her, building up in her legs and torso. She let it grow, like a whirlwind growing into a tornado, and sprinted.

She reached the other side of the corridor within a blink of an eye. Yen steadied her feet, holding herself back from tumbling forward and crashing into the statue. A giggle escaped her lips.

“You’re a quick learner.”

Yen smirked. “Is that a praise I hear?”

“Don’t get arrogant,  _ slave _ . You’ll still lose against me.”

“We’ll see.”

Yen spent days and nights in and out of tombs, weaving between traps and mad tomb raiders who were out for blood. The strange ancient Sith script that was etched among the walls were still as indecipherable to her as ever, but they no longer looked alien and intimidating. Yen felt a kinship with the stones, a familiarity with the darkness and the dust.

One dawn, after she had fallen asleep at a hidden crevice hidden by a slab of rock within the tomb of Naga Sadow, she awoke to the sound of a woman calling after a boy. 

Curiously, she made her way to the tomb’s entrance, finding a distraught woman with hair tied back in a military fashion, dressed in an Imperial trooper armor that has seen combat.

“Acolyte! Do you have a moment?”

Any other time, Yen would have held her chin high and replied with a callous ‘no’. Yet, the woman’s eyes were glassy, on the verge of tears. There was a quiver in her voice, a tremble that tugged at Yen’s heart.

“What do you want?”

She heard desperation clear in Sentry Yashia’s speech, the worried tone as she practically begged Yen for assistance in finding what remained of a boy who sounded more like a failure than a Sith. Sentry Yashia described his appearance, and recognition sparked in Yen’s mind. She bit her lips, stopping herself from jumping to conclusion and shooting down the woman’s hopes with the cold, sharp truth.

Yen’s trek back to the steps past the entrance of the tomb confirmed her suspicion: that boy had died soon after he stepped through the doorway. Only a half-decomposed head and torso was left. She looked around and nicked a bloodied cloak of another corpse and wrapped the boy’s remains with it, as if it was a worm in a cocoon, waiting to be reborn.

“He’s dead, I’m sorry,” was all Yen managed to say for a boy she never knew.

Her ears perked when Sentry Yashia explained that the boy’s father was actually a Dark Honor Guard. Yen had only seen in passing those Sith clad in the distinctive blood-red armor. Her eyes widened, surprised that a son of someone who was supposedly so powerful had died such an uninteresting death.

“Sure, I’ll return the body to Naman Fal.”

The name sounded strange rolling on her tongue. To think that such formidable figures had  _ names _ , and were not just faceless knights… She’d be curious to have an excuse to actually talk to one. Her eyes fell down to the ball of cloth she held in her hands. The boy, however pathetic he may be, deserved to be returned to his family too. No one should be separated from their family, not in life nor death.

She made her way back to the Korriban academy and began climbing the stairs.

Yen had never been in these parts of the academy before. On these higher floors, a certain chiliness seeped through the atmosphere, a coolness that seemed to emanate from the very shadows that engulfed the edges of the corridors. She breathed out a shuddering sigh, habitually rubbing her palms together. The iciness was a sign of the dark side, she realized, and it permeated the whole area like an all-encompassing fog.

She wondered if this was a normal characteristic of the building, or whether the effect was due to those who dwelled on these floors. After all, the Dark Council chambers were but a minute or so away. Even if she could not recall their names or all their positions, the overseers had drilled into her brain the fact of how the empire was led by the twelve most powerful Siths. She wondered if a few of them were sitting here, a mere stairway away from her, whether their very presence would suffocate her just by their proximity and frightful intensity.

She realized that she was trembling.

Yen gripped the wrapped body in her arms tighter, and continued her walk upstairs.

Her feet were shaking, and the steps she walked on felt like they were made of ice. Yen kept her eyes down, trying not to trip, attempting to slow down the breaths she realized was growing embarrassingly more rapid and short. Her eyes darted side to side, and she swore she saw moving shadows on the furthest ends of her vision- no, that wasn’t real. Just a trick of the light, a terror of her mind. By the stars, what has gotten into her?

Her feet slipped.

She shrieked a curse, not caring about how her panicked voice had broken the pin-drop silence of the upper floors. With one hand she held the wrapped corpse close, and with the other hand, she reached out, grasping blindly for the railings and-

An arm grabbed her.

White gloved fingers gripped onto her forearm. Yen pulled herself up just as she felt herself being dragged to her feet by the unexpected assistance. She quickly recomposed herself, regaining her balance and steadying her feet on the top of the stairs, on a secure floor away from the steps. She felt heat pricking on her face as if she was blushing to the roots of her hair, livid at being seen in such a humiliating moment. Her eyes drifted up, and Yen gasped.

_ Red. _

The deep red skin and the bright red eyes was the first thing she noticed.

At the realization, she immediately bowed her head down, averting her gaze before she could gawk. She felt the Sith Pureblood releasing his grip on her, and heard his boots stepping back. Yen stared at his boots, at her shoes, at the floor.

“If you are unaware, acolytes are not allowed on this floor. I suggest you turn back.”

His voice had a deep, metallic rasp to it due to the rebreather she glimpsed him wearing. Yen bit her lips, noticing the warning edge in his tone coupled with the coldness of the delivery. She could not tell if he was displeased or simply making a statement, and did not dare to reach out with the Force to confirm it. Yen instinctively retracted her Force presence, shrinking her aura as if she was about to make herself disappear. She swallowed.

“I am here to make a delivery to a Dark Honor Guard, my lord.”

She hoped she sounded more self-assured than she felt. Seconds crawled by. Despite the fiery redness of his eyes, his gaze felt like frostbite bearing down on her. She held her breath.

“Is that so? You reek of nervousness,” the Sith said. “If you are meant to be here then stand tall, acolyte. Act like you belong.”

Yen blinked, the words slowly sinking into her mind, the advice blurry under the sounds of her thumping heart, distorted by the blood rushing in her ears like a speech underwater. Carefully, Yen lifted her head. Like initially, her attention flew to his eyes: how could the color of molten lava be so cold? She then noticed how his respirator was a sleek black, and noted the sheer number of scars all over his face, patterned like a shattered glass pane-

Yen snapped out of her thoughts. She squared her shoulders and raised her chin up, settling her face into an expression she hoped betrayed nothing. Her body stopped trembling.

The Sith gave a small nod.

She swore she caught his eyes softening, like a glacier melting under daybreak.

With that, the Sith strode past her and descended the stairs. Yen followed him with her eyes, watching him disappear into the shadows below. She breathed a sigh, and made her way to the Dark Honor Guard she was told was Naman Fal, her stride unflinching. She imagined she was walking the corridors of her father’s estate, that her raggedy acolyte sandals were stiletto heels.

The Dark Honor Guard intimidated her less than that Sith she had met. Naman Fal was dressed like the rest of the guards she saw, head to toe in red. He seemed nonchalant about the mention of his deceased son, and Yen narrowed her eyes at his words.

“He was such a weak boy. He shamed me in death as he shamed me in life.”

The man then inquired about the specifics of his son’s death, all the while disparaging the boy at every turn of phrase. It was too on the nose, too defensive, like speech meant to comfort their speaker rather than the listeners. They were lies, spilling words and words and words. Yen wrinkled her nose.

“Did my pathetic son even make it past the first steps?” asked the Dark Honor Guard. “In the end, was he Sith?”

Romantics had named the eyes to be the windows to the soul. Yen still remembered the coldness of the Pureblood’s eyes, red like blood in snow. The eyes of the Dark Honor Guard felt instead like the ocean: stormy, something brewing under the surface. Longing.

_ Not many parents would feel joy over a dead child. _

“He died valiantly, deep in the tombs,” Yen answered. Only grief could blind his eyes from such an obvious lie. “He was nearly Sith.”

Yen felt goosebumps rise at the back of her neck. She had always had a sense for when she was being watched, whether it be the lusty eyes that possessed her body like fingertips trailing down her spine, or eyes of daggers that glared at her in envy or loathing. Yet, all she could pinpoint from the brief sensation that disappeared as quickly as an unexpected breeze was that  _ someone  _ was watching the conversation.

After accepting her rewards from the Dark Honor Guard, Yen swiftly returned to the lower floors, not wanting to linger any longer.

A shadow moved.

* * *

Harkun seemed to have forgotten both of them- even his attention over Ffon had waned. They were like two pet projects that were discarded once the initial shine and sparkles had faded. Looking back, it made sense that Harkun had focused so much attention on collecting artifacts and surviving tombs- Lord Zash, who had once shown interest in their cohort, was a Lord of the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge after all.

Ffon had talked to her more often in the past weeks than he had over the three years they had been on Korriban together.

“It’s not like there was anyone left from our group that I can talk to,” Ffon shrugged. “Unlike you, slave, I don’t take joy in conversing with dusty bones and wailing ghosts.”

They had learnt about the structure of the Sith Empire during the introductory classes on the first year of Korriban academy. However, unlike her, Ffon seemed to know the famous figures of each Spheres, the news of power struggles, having kept up with the gossips that began with the Sith Lords and filtered down into whispers among the acolytes. If life was as easy as it had been on Celanon, Yen would’ve been tearing through rumors with greedy claws and hungry fangs. Instead, her only source of reliable off-world news came from Malora, who was much too preoccupied with research and overthrowing her master to be informative.

“How long do you think we have to wait until someone shows interest in us?” Yen asked Ffon, after the adrenaline of a sparring session had worn off..

Ffon poured a generous volume of water from his flask over his head, cooling off the Korriban heat.

“Hard to tell,” he said. “All I can say is that for acolytes like us, chances are, only Sith Lords from the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge would want to have us as their tools.”

“Tools?”

“I doubt we’ll be treated as their  _ legacy _ ,” Ffon snorted. “Lord Renning uses Malora as his lab assistant, didn’t he? And Malora’s a proper Sith. Whoever picks  _ us _ would presumably use us to dig out old artifacts and break into tombs- no more, no less. It’s what Harkun trained us for, after all.”

“But you’re a Sith Pureblood. Surely, that means  _ something _ .”

The look Ffon gave her made her stomach drop. They were rivals, Yen reminded herself. If it came to it, she  _ will _ kill him without hesitation. But even then, the heavy eyes he gave her reminded her so much of the woman she saw in the mirrors of Nal Hutta, tired by the way fate had turned against her, exhausted by the uphill battle that life had become. Yen hated the person she was, and the look in his eyes looked too much like hers once did.

“I know what I am. Do you know what you are?”

The question plagued Yen that night. The acolyte dorm she was assigned to was now empty, now that she was the only woman left in her cohort. The room was eerily quiet. Yen stole the extra blankets left on the unused beds and added it to her own.

That night, she dreamt of a ruby moon and stars that dripped blood.

She awoke to a summon from Overseer Harkun. It seemed Ffon received the same message too, for he was already waiting at Harkun’s office. Harkun looked like he was about to feast, a ravenous glint in his eyes. Yen hoped she wasn’t about to be butchered.

“I’ve already told Ffon the news,” Harkun said. “Now, I want to speak to you in private, slave.”

Yen saw Ffon nodding at Harkun’s words before making his way out of the office. He brushed past her on his way to the door, and gave her a look. Yen cocked her head.

“I’ll wait for you outside,” he muttered and exited the room.

Yen turned her attention to Harkun who gave her a snide smile.

“Good news: someone has shown interest in you and Ffon,” Harkun explained. “It is obvious to anyone with a brain that you, slave, are a fluke. However, I cannot deny a Darth his request, even if you barely deserve to stand in his shadow.”

“A Darth?”

“Exactly,” Harkun said. “He had requested to meet you and Ffon this noon. I do not know what trial he had in mind and I do not dare to ask. Be on your best behavior: both of our heads are on the line.”

“Who is he, my lord?”

Harkun scoffed. “As if a slave like you would know who is who within the Empire.”

“I just want to prepare. Can I not know?”

“Fine,” Harkun said. “His name is Darth Kharopos- he works for Imperial Intelligence. Now get out of here.”

Yen whirled around, flicking her hair at Harkun.

“And learn how to bow, slave. I may tolerate your arrogance but  _ he _ will not.”

Yen walked out of the door, scowling. Ffon was waiting outside, leaning against a shaded pillar. He smirked upon seeing her. Yen crossed her arms and frowned.

“You said only Siths from Ancient Knowledge would be interested in us.”

Ffon gave a non-committal hum. “I was _ theorizing _ \- besides, I’d rather work in the sphere of spies and assassins than be a glorified graverobber.”

“You’ve ever heard of him, Darth Kharopos?”

The Pureblood shook his head. “Can’t say I have. Siths from that sphere tend to keep to themselves.” After a pause, he stepped forward, moving away from the pillar and towards her. Yen raised a brow.

“In a few hours, it is likely that only one of us will be left,” Ffon said, inches away from her, towering over her head. Yen glanced up nonchalantly at him, not falling for his intimidatory tactics. “If I have to choose between you and me, I will always choose  _ me _ .”

‘Oh please,” Yen waved her hands dismissively. “I knew you were a narcissist since I met you.”

“I mean it- this is goodbye,  _ slave. _ ”

Last words were always hard to pick. Yen recalled how all she managed to utter to Malora before the woman walked away to the spaceport was a pathetic ‘good luck’. She recalled her speechlessness the last time she saw Gisele, the kiss she was given. She snapped out of the memories and looked at Ffon - truly looked - only to see that there was more fear than anger in the fallen Pureblood’s eyes. Ffon wore his emotions like prickly armor, trying to appear larger than he was, like a cat puffing its fur. 

“I’ll see you this noon,” Yen said, a hint of a smile touching at her lips. “Bye, Ffon.”

* * *

Yen hated waiting.

In the past, money had solved the problem of time, granted her an instant-gratification she had grown used to. Connections helped too: Yen remembered the times she had gotten an outfit early before it was released in stores simply because her father knew the designers. She wore decadence like armor, just as Ffon wore his anger and fear.

She remembered how her father had scolded her that arriving late was bad manners, and how in spite of his reprimands Yen still almost always arrived late to meetings, to gatherings, to events, just because she  _ could. _

She wondered if the Darth interested in them was playing the same game.

Yen took a glance at Ffon who was fidgeting with the training saber in his hand. He was swirling it around, making jabbing motions with his saber, obviously running through the moves in his head. He bounced his legs, a nervous tick that made Yen want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. If she were to fight him, then she’d do everything to  _ win _ .

The doors swung open.

She recognized his presence before she recognized his face. That arctic-dark coolness. A heavy, swirling depth. Those cold, ruby eyes, and the unmistakable deep red skin. His armor caught her attention: she hadn’t paid much thought to the way he dressed before, but she realized now that the armor he wore was different to what the Siths in the academy were wearing.

Most overseers preferred flowing robes, especially if they were the type to spend time in dark caverns pouring over dusty tomes. And then there are the warriors, clad in heavy armor, usually the color of black or red. She saw a few so-called Sith assassins about, wielding the double bladed sabers, disappearing into thin air with their Force cloak. Her eyes fell to a long, double-bladed hilt at his hip.

He’s an assassin, Yen thought. Fitting for his sphere.

Except, another factor that set him apart from the other assassins she’d seen so far was the color scheme he wore - a stark white over a matte black. White plated armor with edges of red, protecting the top of his chest and shoulders. The suit underneath was black, and the same style of armoring adorned his legs and arms, giving the outfit a cohesive look that was surprisingly sleek. Yen imagined it was made of whatever cutting-edge material Imperial Intelligence could provide, hence the modern look compared to the more archaic attires worn by other Siths of Korriban.

Yen tried not to recall the feel of his gloved fingers wrapped around her arms.

“My lord, welcome!” Harkun sounded excessively eager, bowing so low she thought he’d touch the ground. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Ffon bowing too. Yen bit her lips and followed the two men in their actions.

The room was quiet.

When Yen raised her head again, she almost screamed.

The Darth was staring at Ffon.

He was looking at Ffon!

It was petty, Yen realized. It was pathetic.  _ She _ was pathetic. Somehow, the fact that she was once again overlooked felt like a detonation in her mind, some pent up rage exploding, a tightrope finally snapping. If today she were to be executed just because she was inferior to that Pureblood, she’d walk to her gallows livid with disdain, eyes blazing. Her hands twitched, itching for a fight.

“So this is what Korriban gives me,” the Darth said, his voice the same as she had heard before. “A man whose arrogance far exceeds his abilities, and a woman who could barely hold a saber.”

His eyes flicked towards her-  _ finally _ . Yen held her breath, biting back a gasp or a curse. Harkun began to protest, to speak up on behalf of his favored student Ffon, but one glance from the Darth shut the Overseer right up.

“Acolytes, you may call me Darth Kharopos,” he said. Yen noted the hoarseness in his tone, exacerbated by the metallic reverb of the rebreather “Your final trial is this: both of you will work together, and fight  _ me _ . Should any of you survive and I deem you worthy, then you will be my apprentice.”

Yen gaped.

_ What? _

“The fight begins now.”

The office doors swung open and the Sith stepped outside, into the hot sands with the sun beating down on them. He ignited his double bladed saber, and the red glow lit up the ground. She heard the sounds of Ffon drawing his blade, the action bringing her attention back to the reality at hand. A battle, with Ffon as her  _ ally.  _ Yen glanced at Ffon, who nodded, prompting her to draw her own training saber. Yen refocused her attention on the Darth who stood tall and unconcerned at the center of the room, his form open, as if baiting them to attack first. His eyes were gleaming- amusement, Yen realized, finally managing to identify at least one emotion emanating from the Sith. They were no threat to him, not even with both of their strengths combined.

_ What kind of mind game is this? _


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yen succeeds in her trial and sees Dromund Kaas for the first time.
> 
> "[...] let not pity mop up your sorry stain of red."  
> \- Khiazmos

Ffon shifted towards her and began muttering in her ears. The fact that he recovered this quickly from the shock of their new trial surprised her.

“You know how to run fast. Use hit and run tactics, and distract him,” Ffon said, low enough for only them to hear. Yen scowled, not enjoying being bossed about. “I’ll attack him.”

She wanted to bite back with a retort, only her mind was blank, with no better strategy to offer.

“Fine,” she mumbled back. “Don’t hold back!”

Yen felt the Force rushing through her legs and sprinted forward, aiming for the very edges of the Darth’s combat range. As expected, he parried her attack with an annoying ease, and Yen leaped out of the close quarters and away onto a spot nearby. At the same time, Ffon charged forward like a ram- she had to give credits for how dauntless (or perhaps reckless) the Pureblood was. The Darth only raised a palm, and Ffon was pushed back by an invisible power, tumbling backwards and crash landing on the sands. Yen winced at the hard thud despite the bleak cushioning the sands provided.

Before the Darth could turn his attention back towards her, Yen was already running with the Force empowering her every movement. She twisted her form, aiming for his arm instead of merely testing the waters like before. His response was lightning-quick, and Yen’s eyes widened. The Force was on her side, for she was still fast enough to pull back, retreating away from his counterattack just in the nick of time.

She found herself panting, and realized her hair was dripping with sweat.

Ffon, on the other hand, was relentless. He made another attempt at directly attacking the Darth, a ferocious head-on flurry of strikes that the Darth met with blow by blow- the difference between the two being how each attack seemingly took everything Ffon had in him, while the Darth looked somewhere between bored and disgusted. Was Ffon truly hoping to overwhelm the Sith with his attacks? A strike from the side sent Ffon flying for the second time, this throw much harder than the last. Ffon groaned, and Yen swallowed, her stomach dropping.

Darth Kharopos raised his hand again. With a downward flick of his fingers, Ffon was pinned to the ground, halfway sinking into the sand by the sheer weight of the invisible pressure. The Darth stepped towards Ffon and Yen made no move to stop him. From the distance, the lightsaber looked truly like it was slick with blood, and Yen could imagine those glowing red blades stabbing through Ffon’s heart, ending his life there and then. Her eyes were glued to what may be an execution scene.

The lightsaber instead swung down and sliced Ffon’s training blade in half, depriving Ffon of his weapon.

“Do you yield, acolyte?”

Yen made her move.

Despite her trembling muscles and shaking legs, Yen commanded the Force to aid her once more. In a blink of an eye, she was near enough to kill, close enough to slice the Sith’s neck off his shoulders, taking full advantage of the Darth’s inattentiveness towards her-

Or so she thought.

Her attack slammed against a Force shield, the sudden impact almost making her lose grip of the blade in her hand. In one swift movement, she watched as the Sith swung his lightsaber at Ffon’s legs, ensuring that he could no longer stand up, essentially eliminating Ffon as a productive threat. His head then whirled back in her direction, his eyes piercing, sending chills down her spine.

Yen cloaked herself and ran.

She briefly thought of running away and then shook herself free from the delusion. Instead, she ran circles around the Sith, avoiding the blows of his blade, shocked at how he seemed to know where she was despite the fact that she was certain that her Force cloak was definitely working. Yen narrowly evaded the blood-red lightsaber, but with every passing second, her steps were becoming jittery, her breathing more ragged. There was no way she could keep running eternally.

Her eyes fell down.

Oh.

Of course!

She was leaving trails in the sand wherever she ran, and even a Force-blind individual could track her just by watching where she moved. Invisibility meant nothing when the very ground she stood on was giving away her position. Yen wanted to laugh hysterically.

She uncloaked herself. If the Darth was surprised at her sudden change in tactics, he did not show it.

Yen took in a sharp breath and focused power in her hands until her palms were tingling. She squinted her eyes and sent a Force push down towards the sands on the ground, causing a cloud of dust to form in her immediate radius, obscuring her form from view. Hidden by the sands, Yen rushed forward once more: the final attack, giving all she had in hoping to make even the tiniest of scratch on the Darth’s pristine white armor.

The Darth parried her blow away as if she was an unwanted fly.

Yen yelped out a curse. Suddenly, the tingling in her palms felt like a burn, like the sensation of dipping bare fingers into snow and feeling the blackening frostbite on her skin. It was like she was on Celanon all over again: backed in a corner, fighting against someone she had no chance winning against.

The Darth made a move in her direction and Yen pointed a hand towards the center of his chest. Only when he was near did her hand drop down, refocusing her Force push at his feet.

Like a miracle, the Sith tripped.

It was a short-lived success though, for less than a second later, he regained his balance. Yen collapsed to her knees, her body abruptly giving out from the heat and the exhaustion and the stress of the battle. She closed her eyes, gripping her training saber tight like she was hugging a comfort doll in her final moments. His footsteps were inches away from her, and she felt the unmistakable heat of a lightsaber blade singeing her now unkempt hair and prickling at her sweat-soaked skin.

Death did not come.

Her eyes flew open, and she gasped at the plasma blade positioned right at the center of her two eyes. If she’d leaned forward the tiniest bit, she’d be dead.

Darth Kharopos retracted his saber. The afterimages of the red plasma still burned behind her eyelids. Yen refused to move, not even a little.

“Well done, acolyte,” he said. “You passed.”

* * *

Yen overheard the Darth ordering that Ffon was to be placed in a kolto tank until he could walk again. She was still trembling, her hands and legs shaking from the adrenaline despite it being almost an hour after the fight had concluded. Hell, the fight itself was barely three minutes long. She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, cackling like a lunatic until she’d end up crying.

She now found herself in her room, folding what little clothes she had and packing it into a tattered rucksack. She retied her hair into a bun, combed her fringe with her fingers. Her training saber was attached to her belt, the weight a comfort to her.

When she was done, Overseer Harkun waited for her at the spaceport. His arms were crossed over his chest, a frown on his face.

“How’s Ffon?” she asked.

Harkun waved a dismissive hand. “He’ll be back to normal soon enough. He’s lucky Darth Kharopos didn’t hit anything that kolto couldn’t heal.”

Yen wondered if that was intentional- the Sith did not seem like the type to waste acolytes’ lives. If she had not interrupted, and Ffon decided to yield, what would that have meant for Ffon?

“I don’t know what he sees in you, slave,” Harkun scowled. “Ffon was brash, but Ffon is  _ Sith _ . You, on the other hand, know nothing of our history, our values, our culture and tradition. You don’t deserve to be our legacy. If it were up to me, you’d be dead.”

“But it’s not up to you,” Yen retorted. “Good riddance, Harkun.”

Before Harkun could spit another insult, Yen strode past him, making her way to the ship she knew was waiting for her. Finally, she was leaving this sandy planet behind.

The ship before her left her gawking.

She had expected something large, with armoring as black as the void of space. She had expected a vehicle that was explicitly intimidating, lined with all kinds of weapons. She had expected a siege vessel, and yet the starship before her was only moderated sized, looking all too innocuous.

_ Imperial Intelligence _ , Yen thought.  _ Makes sense he’d fly something lightweight. _

The doors slid open upon her arrival. She stepped aboard.

Yen held back a snort. The Darth seemed to have a thing for the color white. The walls and floors of the ship were like a snow field, accented by honey-brown wooden panellings. It felt deceptively inviting, especially with the decadent sofa at the center of the lounge area.

She heard his voice, conversing with a droid as he stepped through the door leading to what Yen assumed was the captain’s room. He halted midstep, and for a moment she thought he was surprised to see her on his ship, clutching a worn out rucksack and dressed in an acolyte outfit she was assigned three years ago. Except, Yen saw no change in his facial expressions, no widening of the eye nor twitch of a brow-ridge. Every movement he made was meticulously guarded, Yen realized. Either that, or her ability to sniff people out had worsened during the years.

She was staring again. Yen quickly averted her eyes and ducked down, giving an awkward bow.

“Welcome aboard, apprentice,” Darth Kharopos said. “Let’s sort out the technicalities, shall we?”

Yen was given a glass of water and a seat on the ship’s lounge. She could not help but run her hand over the velvety texture of the furniture- it was the smoothest and softest material her fingers had touched ever since she landed on Korriban. A plethora of gadgets were handed over to her: a holo which was encrypted with Intelligence technology, a proper ID for she was no longer a slave nor an acolyte but was  _ Sith _ , and - most importantly in Yen’s eyes - a card to store credits. Being Sith was a job after all; her master worked for the Sphere of Imperial Intelligence, and she worked under him. The corner of her lips perked up upon hearing that she would be receiving a monthly pay. Financial independence was something she sorely missed.

Dromund Kaas was the destination. Malora had whispered her tales of the Kaas city, of the bustling shopping sector and the nightlife with a tightly controlled lack of crime unless one knew where to look. Although Dromund Kaas was a planet of jungle and wilderness, Kaas city was apparently a metropolis that rivalled the likes of Coruscant. Yen yearned for skyscrapers and speeders and colorful drinks from fancy cantinas. 

Being Sith was starting to sound fun.

“Any questions, Yennevyr?”

The name sounded strange, spoken by her master with a detached formality that made it feel alien even to her own ears.

“No, my lord.” Yen shook her head.

“One final point,” Darth Kharopos said, as an Imperial officer began approaching him, giving hushed updates on an issue Yen found incomprehensible. “As my apprentice, your actions reflect upon me. I expect you to behave in a manner that does not bring insult to my name and station, lest there be consequences. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord.”

With a nod, the Sith walked away. Yen allowed her shoulders to drop and let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

The flight went faster than expected. In less than an hour, they arrived at the Dromund Kaas Spaceport. It was almost disconcerting the way Imperials abased themselves before the Sith. Yen strolled diligently behind her master, still wide-eyed at how the crowds parted like flocks of birds suddenly fleeing as her master walked through them. Kaas City was both everything she’d expected and nothing like it.

Malora didn’t warn her about the rain.

She only flinched occasionally at the roar of an unexpectedly loud strike of thunder, the perpetual rain being a feature she was unfamiliar with. Especially after spending so long on the arid Korriban, the sensation of cool droplets splattering on top of skin was almost fantastical. Her master had procured a private taxi which they rode to his estate at the far edges of Kaas city. Darth Kharopos paid her no heed, and was instead typing away at a datapad. Yen did not mind- she didn’t want to make any more unnecessary conversations with him either. She gazed out of the windows of the taxi, watching the beasts peeking from behind the fauna and roaming the jungle below.

Her master’s estate unnerved her.

Some buildings were clearly designated for work. Yen noted the Imperial personnels whom she assumed also worked for Imperial Intelligence, darting in and out of certain specific buildings. The living quarters she was eventually led to was plainly decorated and spotlessly clean, having a strange sort of liminality to it, feeling more like a high-end hotel at some spaceport than a place to call home. It was  _ cold _ . Despite the housekeeping and guardian droids stationed at every other corner, the place felt empty and much too large.

“2V-T6 will be your personal assistant,” Darth Kharopos motioned at a silver droid who gave a flourish bow at the both of them. “Show my apprentice her room, 2V-T6.”

Her bedroom was two floors below her master’s, and one floor above the kitchens and dining room.

To call the room lifeless was an understatement.

If her master had any apprentices before her, there certainly was no trace that another soul had lived in this room. Whatever history in here has been scoured clean. The room had a single window and was composed of a modest queen sized bed, a desk with nothing on top, a wardrobe with the bare essentials in it, a blank vanity desk, and a bathroom stocked with the basic necessities. It reminded Yen of the dorm she used to live in back when she was enrolled at the Celanon School of Economics and Interplanetary Trade, before she began to adorn it with posters and decorative lights.

“The room is yours to do as you wish, my lord,” 2V-T6 said. “Should you need anything, do not hesitate to ask me.”

Yen smiled at the droid. “Thanks, 2V-T6.”

“Do you have any allergies or dietary requirements I should be aware of?” 2V-T6 asked, to which Yen shook her head. “Dinner will be ready in two hours. I will prepare the usual, but if you have any particular request then do let me know, my lord.”

The moment the droid exited the room, Yen threw herself onto the bed. By the stars, it was  _ soft.  _ Her whole body sank into the fabric, the pillows like clouds beneath her face. When was the last time she slept on something as soft as this?

Memories of the blotted sun flashed up in her mind. She brushed it away.

Darth Kharopos had said training will officially start at dawn tomorrow, so this evening and the upcoming night was for her to spend.

Yen drew herself a bath. She stripped herself bare from the acolyte uniform, encrusted with Korriban dust and sand. The hot water was heaven sent, melting away the knots in her muscles, the aches in her bones. She rubbed the vanilla-scented soap in her hands until it foamed, and cleansed herself free from the layers of oil and grime that the showers on Korriban never fully managed to clear away. She allowed hot steam to fill the room, the closest thing to a sauna she’d had since-

Yen reached for the shampoo before she could dwell on the thought.

She squeezed the bottle on top of her head, noting how this time, the shampoo was fragrance-free. Its texture was silky between her fingers. When she took a bath like this, Gisele would massage shampoo that smelled like a flower bouquet into her scalp, working it into the roots of her hair.

_ No. _

_ Forget it, Yen. Move on already. _

She quickly finished up her bath and dressed herself in a black, unisex robe she found in the wardrobe. Two hours was over too soon.

Yen made her way down the lifts to the dining room, relieved to find it as lonely as the rest of the estate. She took a seat, smiling when 2V-T6 pulled a chair for her. Her gaze fell down to the table. Before her was a plate of what reminded her of rice, but she wasn’t sure. It was topped with some nuts she could not recognize, and thin slices of roasted mushrooms. Two legs of something that belonged to an avian sat at the side of the plate, glazed with some golden-colored sauce. On another smaller plate sat a leafy salad with smaller bits of the same variety of nuts sprinkled onto it. Most importantly, the dinner was set only for one person, she realized. She glanced at 2V-T6 who began pouring cool water from a crystalline pitcher into the frosty glass on the table.

“Is Darth Kharopos not joining us?”

2V-T6 shook his head. “I would assume not. Master prefers to dine alone, my lord.”

“I see,” Yen gave a relieved smile. “Thanks, 2V-T6.”

She scooped up a small bite of the meal with her spoon, and swallowed it.

_ Oh my! _

The rations provided on Korriban tasted like pet food in comparison. She took another spoonful.

Whatever this was, it was as rich as the decadent dishes she’d served to guests who sought an audience with the Hutts. She remembered dipping her fingers into one of the meals and sneaking a taste. However, unlike those meals, the dish before her had an earthy tone to it, a unique aftertaste that gave it a warm dimension and depth. It took everything in her to not scarf down the meal, to restrain herself to the etiquette lessons Papa brought her up with. The meal was nothing like what she would usually pick for herself, nothing like what she ate at her favorite restaurants, nothing like what the chefs back home used to make. Yet, it was delicious. By the stars, it was  _ divine. _

Yen felt tears prickling at her eyes.

“Are you finished, my lord?” 2V-T6 inquired. Yen nodded, not trusting her voice to not break if she were to speak.

“Darth Kharopos had informed me that you were raised on Celanon. At such a short notice, I was unable to prepare you any Celanonian main dishes, but I managed to create what I believe is a dessert popular among the locals there.”

Yen recognized it immediately. Sticky grains drizzled with coconut milk, topped with juicy fruits the color of the sun at noon. It tasted like home.

She sobbed.

It was only her and the droid in the room, and for that she was grateful. 

After dinner was over, her journey back to her room was somber. The lonely silence of the estate was a thousandfold louder than it had been. She found herself gazing into the mirror of the vanity desk.

Her skin was tanned from the years under Korriban’s harsh sun, but it had an ashy undertone to it from sleepless nights and the exhaustion of survival. Her eyes were still a deep brown, almost black: no hint of ruby or fiery orange or gold flecks in them. She was still her, except she wasn’t. She had a personal droid and the most delicious meal ever, but it still was not Celanon- nothing could replace Celanon. Her hair hung limp on her head, and the forced smile on her face looked more like a grimace.

Yen swallowed thickly and blinked the tears away.

The sun was setting, the last rays of the vermillion sun shining into her eyes. Yen’s eyes flickered to the window where light was peeking through from. As if possessed, she slowly dragged her feet to the window, pressing her hand against the cool glass pane. She pushed the window open and a rush of cool evening wind blew past her. The rain had lessened, only sparse droplets still fell from the sky like pieces of a watery comet. Petrichor smelled otherworldly.

She gazed down, and envisioned the shape her remains would make as it splattered onto the ground below.

Yen slammed the window shut before she could do anything stupid.

* * *

The word ‘master’ was a peculiar word. It could be an honorable rank, one that announced to the world the accomplishments and repute of the titled person. Yet, it was also a word that showed dominion over a skillset, a realm, or a person.

What was the difference between a slavemaster and a Sith master, anyway?

Yen met her master at the training grounds right as the sun was rising. If she was not trembling from the chill and the knot in her stomach, she might have spent time admiring the way the golden sunlight tinted the landscape with a flaxen sheen. Her master was relatively unarmored today, dressed in loose reds and blacks, with subtle Imperial insignia stitched into the satin-like fabric.

“From what I’ve seen of your performance, your forms are atrocious,” Darth Kharopos said. Yen tried not to make a face, reminding herself that unlike Harkun, there was no venom in her master’s words. Yet, the cold objectivity of his criticism slashed deeper than any biting insult.

“Show me what you would call a defensive stance.”

She lifted her saber up and squared her shoulders, placing equal weights on both feet. Yen felt like she was being dissected by Darth Kharopos’ gaze. Suddenly, she felt a hand touching her- except it wasn’t a hand. Her master raised a palm and twisted his fingers and with that, her limbs were guided by the Force into the position they were supposed to be in for her to protect herself.

“Feel the difference?” Darth Kharopos asked, stepping towards her. “Defense is not just about being an immovable, impenetrable wall. It requires a degree of mobility, of reactivity.”

The lesson continued for an hour or so, and by the time they were done, her brain was hurting more than her body. The information her master had imparted to her was done with a cutting precision, along with the expectation that once something was said it must be remembered, the knowledge becoming a part of her very muscle and bone. She knew what he just taught her were just the basics: it was the instructions that Ffon knew since his very first year on Korriban, the foundations of all combat training.

And yet, to her, it was eye-opening.

_ Not my fault Harkun never gave me the attention he gave Ffon _ , Yen thought bitterly.  _ Not my fault my education was lacking. _

It became a routine. Darth Kharopos was a darth- he was constantly busy, or so it seemed. Still, for a couple of days each week, he would spend a few hours with her in the morning, going over everything from combat practice to Force training to lessons on tactic and strategy. She was assigned a ridiculous pile of tomes and books to pour over: texts on galactic relations, on Sith history, on Imperial politics, and much more. Yen had years and years to catch up on, if she were to stand on the same playing field as other Siths who were raised and groomed to be Sith.

The intensity of her apprenticeship made it almost possible to forget that she was anything but Sith.

Yen exchanged smiles with a few friendly faces she saw on a semi-regular basis around her master’s estate. One woman caught her eyes. She was a blue skinned woman with solid red eyes that seemed to glow in the dim evening light- a Chiss, as Yen later learnt. Cipher Nine was her designation, placing her upon the elites of the Intelligence operatives. They never exchanged more than an amiable ‘hello’ or a ‘good morning’, but some gut instinct in Yen told her that Cipher Nine was to be trusted. If anything, her master certainly trusted the Chiss.

After too many days smelling like vanilla, Yen decided to ask 2V-T6 for other scented liquid soaps and hair products to wash herself with. It seemed the droid was eager to please, as she ended up with a bath gel that smelled neither too delicate nor too wild, a blend of fragrance that gave her an earthy, subtly floral scent, merging the sweet notes of berries with humid notes of undergrowth.

Her hair grew out too. It was still as black as ever, but its dullness was replaced with a shine that seemed to come with improvements in her diet. Yen learned how to better style it in a tight and efficient bun that both elevated her look and provided fluidity in her movements without the distraction of flying stray hairs or a too-long fringe that kept getting in her eyes.

For some reason Yen could not explain to herself, she was still reluctant to decorate her room. Perhaps, deep down, if she somehow marked the room as belonging to her, then it meant that she too belonged to this estate, to this dreary place that still felt much too large and quiet. Still, she allowed herself one tiny vase, wherein a lone moonflower rested: a pale white flower, blooming like a feathered trumpet, with soft purple veins creeping among its petals. If she were to leave the window open, night-flying sphinx moths and buzzing honey bees would fly through to smell the flowers, only leaving at the break of dawn.

Life was fine.

One day during practice, her master paused mid-battle, before a particularly harsh strike could hit her skin. Yen cocked her head, confused at the sudden halt.

“Have I not assigned you any armor, apprentice? Proper armor- not whatever you’re wearing.”

Yen shook her head. “No, my lord.”

Her master gave her an indecipherable look. Yen hated how she  _ still  _ could not read him.

“It’s about time you are given one. Freshen up, Yennevyr,” Darth Kharopos said. “I’ll call you a taxi to Kaas City.”

Yen’s eyes lit up.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shopping trip. A mission. A heartbreak.
> 
> "[...] we wear the skins of our own future murders."  
> \- Khiazmos

100,000 credits was an amount that she would’ve scoffed at six years ago. There were days when she’d spend at least 20,000 credits on a luncheon at an upscale restaurant, the kind that served meals in tiny courses, delicacies that were meant to feed the senses more than the stomach. She’d easily throw away 40,000 for a new pair of shoes with edges sharp enough to slice a man’s throat, and pay another 40,000 on a dinner with free-flowing wine and crustaceans imported from the other side of the galaxy.

Now, the 50,000 credits her master had transferred to her was enough to make her squeal- once he was out of earshot, of course.

Kaas city was glistening. 

The concept of order seemed to be drilled into the bones of every Imperial, for Yen found no trash littering the ground among the city sidewalks, no cars parked out of its lane, nothing that betrayed the image of the immaculate and flawless nature of the Imperials. The city was already glossy from the constant upkeep, and the thin layer of rain only added to the lustrous gleam.

The marked spot on the mini-map which blinking from her holo turned a bright green color, indicating that she had arrived at the destination. Yen looked up, and frowned. The establishment was certainly more underwhelming than she had secretly hoped for.

_ Welcome to the Hephaistium _

Yen stepped into the shop, an electronic bell ringing upon her entrance. The shop itself was cluttered, smelling of soot. Yen’s eyes flickered to the dozens of armor sets proudly displayed on the walls, placed behind a transparent electric field. The armors ranged from light robes to formal outfits to full on battle armors, something a warrior might wear to a siege.

“Hi there ma’am! I’ll be with you in a second- just…” Yen heard a woman muttering, “There we go!”

Something clicked and clanked and whirled from a room behind the counters. Yen saw glimpses of sparks flashing from the partly closed doors. Then, a woman stepped out, and Yen had to remind herself not to gawk. She bit her lips and tried to maintain a respectable amount of eye contact- this was the woman Darth Kharopos had praised and recommended.

“Well now, what do we have here?” the woman grinned, placing one cybernetic hand lazily on her hips.

It seemed half of her body was cybernetic, composed of cool silvery metal that reflected the dim lights of the room. The other half was covered in soot and smeared oil, and she wore a sleeveless top that gave her the freedom of movement to do whatever tinkering needed to be done. She must have spent years working as an armourer; her perfectly chiseled muscles certainly acted as proof of the labor she’d gone through.

The woman was beaming, seemingly elated at the prospect of a new doll to dress. Half of her head was shaved and tattooed in Sith scripts Yen could not read, whilst the other half was cropped close to her head in a chic pixie cut. Yen swallowed, feeling her cheeks heating up.

“Hello, miss?” the woman stepped forward, giving her an outstretched hand. “Welcome to the Hephaistium. I’m Estemi Kyldev, but just Este is fine.”

Yen quickly shook the hand.

“Yennevyr Airen,” Yen replied, a shy smile on her face. “Darth Kharopos recommended your shop.”

Este raised a brow.

“I need to get some armor,” Yen explained. “I’ve got 50 grand; what can you do with that?”

Este gave her a deep bow, to which Yen took a surprised step back.

“Forgive my lack of formality, my lord,” the woman’s words were solemn, but her tone still playfully soft. “You don’t look _ Sith _ , but I can fix that.”

It had been too long since Yen had a wardrobe change.

Since it was not yet certain whether Yen was being trained to become an assassin or a sorcerer or any particular specializations, Este had decided on an outfit that would suit all purposes. According to Este, Yen currently lacked the physique to wear anything that may weigh her down too much, so the best outfit that would match her body type should be a form of light robes and light padded armor. Este gave her a form fitting armor, made from a mix of leather and lightweight steel, whose paddings covered her chest, arms and legs. Yen was also given gauntlets with an integrated user interface, to be connected to her holo or any other gadgets. The boots Este designed were meant to aid with long falls and Force assisted jumps. What surprised Yen the most was the white-grey long coat whose texture felt like silk, but apparently was resistant to the elements, including both heavy rain and electrical shocks and fire burns.

“Don’t let the armor take the brunt of an attack for you- it isn’t designed for that,” Este looked her over, as if admiring a proud piece of art. “However, you should be fine when it comes to the occasional blaster fire or a lightsaber strike that just grazes the surface.”

Yen twirled around, inspecting her reflection in the mirror. The coat had enough weight to it in order to prevent it from flying too much in the wind, but it was not too heavy as to hinder her from performing acrobatic moves. The padded armor felt sturdy, yet sleek. Yen put the hood on, and smirked at the way shadows covered the upper half of her face.

“This is lovely, Este,” Yen thanked the woman. “How much is it?”

“For Darth Kharopos’ apprentice, I’ll take 30K,” Este said. “I suggest you treat yourself with what’s left of the budget, my lord. There  _ are _ many wonderful cantinas in Kaas city.”

Este winked, and Yen let out a laugh. It had been too long since she laughed like this. She began to make the transfers.

“You know, I don’t just do armor. I’m not the best at making dresses, but I’d say I’m pretty damn good at designing them and outsourcing their creations to the nimblest hands on Dromund Kaas,” Este said as Yen finished making her payment. “If a formal event ever comes up, my shop is open to you, my lord.”

Before leaving, Yen thanked the woman a final time, a genuine smile on her face.

Upon stepping out into the open, the cool air of Kaas city greeted her. The splattering of the raindrops sounded like a song to her ears.

On the way to hailing a taxi, she spotted a mailbox. The taxi could wait, Yen thought. She rushed to the mailbox, her breath caught in her throat. Her fingers reached for the touchscreen attached to the mailing station like starving hands grasping for food. It’s been too long: she should’ve done this since she stepped foot upon Dromund Kaas. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, searching up the name she knew should be there- it must. Her heart was thumping much too loud.

_ Oh, you’re a lord now? _

She breathed a sigh of relief, her head feeling much too light. She wished time would pause, just so she could spend an eternity finding the perfect words. Nothing she typed could convey the tears welling in her eyes.

_ Dear Malora, _

_ I’m on Dromund Kaas now, apprenticed to Darth Kharopos. How are you doing? _

_ Fondly, _

_ Yennevyr _

Yen could only stare off into the distance as she took the taxi ride back to her master’s estate. She rubbed her fingers against the fabric of her outer robe’s sleeves, as if the repetitive motion would calm her down. Seeing the familiar buildings approaching nearer, she straightened her back and hardened her gaze. Her master had said he would be waiting, and there he was as she exited the transport, looking as aloof as ever.

She bowed, the motion as instinctual as breathing.

When she stood back up, she waited for a comment from her master. He had sent her off to this trip, after all. Yen searched his eyes only to find it dispassionate and calculating, like he was looking for a chink in her defenses, a flaw to be exploited. She held her breath.

“Este did well. It suits you, Yennevyr.”

The words would have been sweet falling from any other lips, but the tone in which her master said it made the remark sounded more like an offhand observation about the weather than a compliment.

“How comfortable are you with that new saber?” he asked.

Yen’s hand twitched in the direction of the saber hilt on her belt. Recently, her master had given her a lightsaber he had in his possession to replace the clunky training saber she brought from Korriban. The new saber was clearly timeworn, the shine on the metallic hilt now dull, but it still worked. It had taken her a while to get used to how light the saber was, to get over her anxieties over accidentally slicing a limb off.

“Comfortable enough, my lord.”

The gleam in her master’s eyes seemed to change from impassivity into something still undecipherable, but Yen noted the change nonetheless. He was planning something.

“I have a mission for you,” her master said. “Get ready however you need to, and I’ll brief you in my office.”

In the past months, Darth Kharopos had made her run errands and little tasks all over Dromund Kaas. Most of them were simple, such as clearing away some unwanted jungle beasts or leading the way for Imperial personnel to fix lightning conductors. However, they weren’t _ missions _ per say, nothing life or death to test her mettle. Stepping into her master’s office in the upper floors of the building, Yen made sure to even out her breathing and calm her jittery nerves.

“The mission is simple,” Darth Kharopos stated, his ruby eyes demanding her complete attention. “Assassinate Vereta Fraabaal.”

Yen’s mouth fell open. She swiftly closed it, and nodded.

“I  _ know _ you have taken lives before, apprentice. No one survives Korriban with clean hands,” a low growl sneaked into her master’s voice, the rough timbre heightened by the voice modulation of his rebreather. “Admiral Fraabaal is a loyal servant of the Empire and a valuable asset. His daughter Vereta, on the other hand, is a Sith who serves the treacherous Lord Grathan. When Grathan falls and Vereta is captured or killed, all of her bloodline will be punished, and that includes Admiral Fraabaal. Hence, I want you to infiltrate Lord Grathan’s compound and assassinate Vereta.”

Yen mulled the information in her mind. She’d heard of Lord Grathan before, how he had an estate thrice as large as her master’s, seated on the opposite edge of Kaas city. Lord Grathan went rogue, apparently. A hologram shone from her master’s desk, depicting a red haired woman around Yen’s age.

Take a life to spare a life. Kill a daughter to save a father.

“Do attempt to take on more enemies than necessary. You only have one target, so focus on her,” her master advised. “Complete the mission and return to me. I should be at the Imperial Intelligence Headquarters by the time you are done.”

Yen made her way to Lord Grathan’s estate, her eyes blazing.

* * *

Yen had barely graduated from Korriban and now Darth Kharopos wanted her to enter a heavily fortified compound and kill a Sith.

_ He certainly has high expectations _ , Yen thought.

Without the ability to cloak herself, Yen would’ve been dead by now. Tens of droids roamed Lord Grathan’s estate, and Yen made sure to sneak her way past them, tip-toeing around their scanners in the process. Her senses were on high alert, and every noise sounded like a warhorn in her ears. Her eyes jumped back and forth between the entranceway and the soldiers which guarded their passage. Yen sprinted past them, relieved to find that she was still unnoticed, her Force-assisted dash seeming like a random breeze than an intruding attempt. She blew out a gentle sigh.

It did not take long to deduce where Vereta was stationed. Within twenty minutes, Yen was crouching with a hammering heart in front of the room where she heard the Sith pacing back and forth, barking orders to the underlings nearby. Yen pushed herself against the door, sinking further into the shadows. As much as she wished to simply sneak up to Vereta and stab her in the back, it was possible that Vereta and her crew would be able to sense her the moment she entered melee range.

She waited for the Sith to turn her back, and then threw her saber in the direction of the underling at the far end of the room. The saber spun like a red disk in the air, and upon impact, sliced the man almost in half. Yen willed her saber back to her, causing the blade to slap back into her grip. Before the man began firing his blaster, Yen rushed forward in a dash and impaled him in the gut. His body went limp, crumbling to the ground.

“You!” Vereta screeched.

Yen whirled around, deflecting the incoming blaster fire from the remaining goons with her saber. Vereta ignited her own saber and lept towards her. Yen jumped sideways, avoiding the saber that slammed into the ground where she once was.

_ Vereta’s slow _ , she thought.

In the seconds that it took for Vereta to locate Yen’s new position, Yen pierced another one of Vereta’s underling with her lightsaber. The man attempted to shoot her in the chest, and Yen was grateful for the new armor. She sliced his head off.

_ Only one more goon left, and then Vereta herself. _

Vereta let out a roar, causing Yen’s ear to ring. The woman’s eyes were ablaze, the dark side emanating from her in rolling waves. A few months ago, Yen may have been intimidated, but now she only sniggered. Vereta was clearly building power for an attack, for Yen could blatantly sense the whirling hurricane growing in strength between the woman’s hands. Vereta’s moves were glaringly predictable.

Yen stepped sideways, lining herself in front of a blaster-wielding goon. The moment Vereta released her Force blast - an enviously powerful one, Yen admitted - Yen rolled to the side and evaded the attack. The goon behind her was hit with the full impact of the blast. He stood no chance, for then he crashed into the wall, the sickening cracks of his bones resounding loud and clear.

Vereta let out a frustrated shriek.

“Who sent you here!” the woman screamed, her face contorting into an ugly expression. “Did father send you? That coward!”

Yen charged forward, hoping to attack her while she was busy talking. Vereta parried away Yen’s strikes, causing Yen to hurriedly leap back. Yen realized she was panting; endurance was never her strength. She had to finish this soon.

“You think a weakling like yourself can kill a Sith like me?” Vereta spat. “You’re delusional, you foolish bitch!”

Yen narrowed her eyes and took a sharp inhale.

_ Don’t get riled up _ , Yen thought to herself.  _ Rile her up instead. _

“You have no title. You’re not a lord either, Vereta,” Yen sneered. “You’re no more Sith than I am, but unlike you, my master isn’t  _ disgraced. _ ”

That insult to her master seemed to be the trigger that pushed Vereta over the edge. If Yen thought Vereta was deranged before, the woman was even more unhinged now. Vereta swung her saber in wide arcs, and it took Yen every bit of attention and swift reaction to evade those fatal strikes. It was evident that the Sith was incredibly powerful, ferocious, and vicious, but she was also frantic, allowing herself to be swept up in her bloodlust. As if in slow motion, Yen tracked the movement of Vereta’s attacks.

A slide to the right with the right leg. A step behind with the left, coupled with a sideway twist of the torso and a change in the grip of her hilt. Vereta was changing forms, and badly so, leaving wide openings for Yen to attack.

Yen lunged.

She struck the woman at her knees, cutting her lower legs into stumps. Vereta screamed, and Yen silenced the noise with a slice at her neck. Her head rolled to the floor, the woman’s crazed eyes frozen wide open.

For a few seconds after, Yen could only stare at the corpse before her. She laughed, allowing herself to revel in the catharsis. She switched her saber off and unconsciously wrapped her arms around herself, sinking into her own body and squeezing it tight. She didn't know how long she stayed there, legs splayed on the floor, hugging herself like a kid frightened of a thunderstorm.

Yen wiped the splattered gore off from her armor, and escaped the way she came in.

Even when she got back into Kaas city, she could still hear the sea-wave roars of her blood rushing in her ears and feel the drumming thumps in her veins. She was behind safe walls now, shielded by the city defenses. And yet, the exhaustion had not settled in and her senses were still sensitive to every little movement of shadow or sudden sounds both near and far. The vibration of her holo made her almost jump.

_ You have 1 new mail. _

It was tempting to shove the pedestrians out of her path as she sprinted her way to the nearest mailing station. If her muscles ached from the mission, she did not feel it. Yen’s fingers opened the mail at lightning speed and-

It wasn’t Malora.

_ Dear Yennevyr, _

_ You have done me a great favor, one that I will be forever thankful for. Your master had certainly picked his legacy well. Please accept these credits as a show of my gratitude. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Admiral Fraabaal _

Yen would have been screaming if not for the fact that she was right at the center of the urban city. It had been less than a day, she reminded herself. Malora may not have read her mail yet.

The 80,000 credits attached to the mail gifted by Fraabaal made the wait a little more bearable.

Her head was spinning, and only when she arrived at the entrance to the Imperial Citadel did her bones begin to feel like it was made out of heavy steel, the weight dragging her down. The adrenaline was wearing off and Yen yearned for a hot bath and a soft bed adorned with goosefeather pillows, finally feeling the extent of her sore muscles. As instructed, Yen made her way to the Imperial Intelligence Headquarters, the guards moving out of her path upon recognizing who she was.

Her master was waiting where she knew him to usually be. Yen noted how the Watcher who was conversing with Darth Kharopos moments ago quickly wrapped up the conversation and stepped away, as did the other Fixers and Minders. She and her master were given some semblance of privacy.

Her master stared at her expectantly.

“Well, apprentice?”

The corner of her lips perked up.

“The mission was a success, my lord,” she replied. “The target has been eliminated.”

Her master nodded. “Good, you may have the rest of the day to do as you wish.”

Before her master could turn away and resume whatever business he was previously engaged in, Yen spoke up. “My lord, I received some… tips, from Admiral Fraabaal.”

“And?” Her master’s tone was curt.

“Do I keep it?” Yen asked, her voice smaller than she hoped for.

“Of course,” Darth Kharopos replied. “After all, it was  _ you _ who chopped off Vereta’s legs and decapitated her.”

Yen’s smile widened before she could help it. It took her a few seconds, and then it hit her. Her eyes flickered back to meet her master’s ruby orbs, her jaws briefly dropping at his specific description of Vereta’s death and the implication of his words. Her gaze darted to the side, noticing the myriad of screens littering the walls of the Imperial Intelligence Headquarters. It wasn’t a stretch to assume that aside from monitoring the nooks and crannies of Kaas city, Imperial Intelligence was also spying upon the activities that occurred within Lord Grathan’s estate too. They always knew what risk Lord Grathan posed, and were presumably planning the best way to stop him too. It explained how Admiral Fraabaal knew of her success before she even reported back to her master. Hesitantly, she glanced back at her master once more.

She saw the tiniest crinkles at the corners of her master’s eyes. 

“Thank you, my lord,” was all Yen said before giving a hasty bow. She could feel her master’s gaze watching her from behind as she walked away, exiting the Imperial Intelligence Headquarters.

Whilst waiting for a taxi to take her back to the city, the view at the platform of the Imperial Citadel took her breath away. Yen had never appreciated the beauty of the Kaasian sunset until now. Only from this vantage point did Yen comprehend how stunning the orange lights were as they reflected off the cool toned skyscrapers that adorned the Kaas city’s skyline.

Suddenly, her holo vibrated again.

Yen almost stumbled and tripped in her rush to reach the mailbox.

The message left her speechless.

_ Dear Yennevyr, _

_ I am genuinely glad you are alive and well- to have a darth as your master is an incredible privilege and a lucky advantage, so take care to make the most out of it. As for me, I am doing fine. Lord Renning has been executed for his waste of Imperial resources, and all of his titles and assets have been transferred to me. I am a lord now, so address me as such if we were to ever meet again. _

_ On this note, I will be blunt with you: unless you are in dire need of assistance and on the verge of death, please do not contact me. _

_ Do you have any idea what it is like, being a lord? The pressure I am facing is more than anything Korriban has thrown at you. In order to survive, I need to make a name for myself and solidify my standing. Therefore, I cannot afford to be distracted. _

_ And you are a sweet distraction, dearest Yennevyr. _

_ I may reach out to you again once I am ready. Until then, I wish you the best. _

_ Yours truly, _

_ Lord Malora _

Yen curled her hands into fists, her fingernails digging into her palms. She wanted it to bleed.

* * *

Every city has an underside and every culture a shadow. The strict, militaristic Imperial society had an equally opulent shopping sector, alongside a bustling nightlife that an indulgent soul could lose their way in. After the sun had sunk, Yen spent the night hours shopping, trying on new clothes and discarding what she hated like shedding old skin.

An oversized jacket with straight-legged pants, simple but classy. A black bodycon dress with black vinyl coat, understated but sophisticated. Leather bustier and black peplum jacket, creating a gorgeous sillouete that was remarkably cosmopolitan with just a touch of sex appeal. A flowing dress that created wonderful movement as she walked, the sweetheart neckline allowing her to bear her shoulders brazenly, displaying her confidence at play.

Yen knew what she liked and what looked good on her.

Some claimed there was beauty in hedonism, like the scent of overripe roses, faintly faded and decayed but still beautiful, just before they die. To Yen, decadency had always been like cutting open a fig that had been warmed in the sun, only to find a rotting worm inside, the decomposing larvae somehow smelling sweet and sickeningly enticing.

To taste a proper glass of Merenzane Gold once more would be a dream come true. Alas, Yen settled for a glass of classic Kaasian Red, dark and spicy wine the color of deep garnet with an oily texture that left a rich aftertaste on her tongue. Then, came a glass of moss whiskey on rocks, a beverage made from fermented moss and lichen and whatever other plants grew in the darkest and dampest nook of the Dromund Kaas jungle. The night devolved into shots: tiny glasses of liquor tasting like caramel and coffee, shots that made Yen feel as if she was drinking liquid pastry instead of drowning her sorrows.

By the time she stumbled back into her bedroom at her master’s estate, her head was pounding and her eyelids weighed tons.

She’d rather drink herself into slumber than cry herself to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yen spirals.
> 
> "[...] 'Twixt Thou and I, nothing."  
> \- Khiazmos

If Dromund Kaas was a jungle, then Dromund Fels was a forest. Except, there were no gigantic settlements on the planet and no hint of urban development on the surface. The natives who lived here lived in little villages that provided no disruption to the growth of the woods and the fauna, and by the stars did they _grow._ Yen could not help but marvel at the sight all around her, craning her neck up to see trees the size of skyscrapers, their branches providing a canopy of leaves that allowed splotches of sunlight to peek through.

She was grateful for her boots which were slip resistant. The ground below, composed of wet dirt and granite boulders, was enveloped by a thick layer of moss. Moreover, that very same moss climbed its way up the trunk of the colossal trees, granting the forest a thick green visage. A cool breeze blew past her every so often, and when it did, the bearded lichen that hung to the branches of the tree floated ethereally in the wind, the strange movement making it seem like they were underwater.

Occasionally, curious chirps seemed to ring from all directions. Every time Yen whirled her head around, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever creature may be hiding among the foliage, she saw nothing.

“Focus, Yennevyr!” her master snapped. In spite of his sharp tone, his voice was low and hushed. It seemed he too did not want to draw unnecessary attention.

“Apologies, my lord.”

_ Right _ , Yen thought. _ Focus on your purpose here. _

Yen’s hand drifted to the lightsaber hooked to her belt. Her master had stated that a lightsaber was an extension of one’s being, a concentration of your power in the Force. Apparently, her current lightsaber was barely an improvement of the training saber she received from Korriban. According to her master, it was like she was wearing a glove that was much too large and loose. She needed something tailored, something that was uniquely hers.

Dromund Fels was a source of ancient artifacts and kyber crystals that had been here since centuries ago. Her task was to locate a naturally occurring cluster of red kyber crystal, and harvest it to create her own lightsaber.

The only color Yen saw since stepping on this verdant planet was  _ green.  _ If red crystals existed here, she certainly had not seen any yet. They had been searching for hours, her master pushing her to the front to lead the way, for the crystal must call to her- not him. She wondered if the journey would be more fruitful should her master be the one trekking in her stead.

The sun was setting, Yen realized. In the dimming light, the forest appeared to exude an eldritch, greenish glow that made her feel like she was in another time and place.

What would happen should night fall and her hands were still empty?

She paused in her steps.

She could feel her master’s gaze crawling along her back, watching her every movement with his eyes. Yen ignored it and attempted to center herself. She was sure that walking around aimlessly would do her no good; if she could not search for a pin in a haystack with her eyes then perhaps the Force may be the answer. Yen allowed her eyelids to drop, blocking out the distraction of vision. She focused on her breathing and nothing else, letting her master’s chilly presence fade into the background like white noise. Slowly, she teetered closer and closer to that mental state one may be in just right before losing consciousness, the liminal trance-like state in between sleep and wakefulness.

In a sea of black, something red glinted to her left.

Yen’s eyes snapped open. She glanced to the left, but that ruby-like glimmer was nowhere to be seen. Yet, it did not matter. In a brief, lightning flash moment of claircognizance, Yen knew exactly where to find her kyber crystal.

She strode through the woods, pushing her way past brambles and stepping through hedges. Time seemed to blur- she did not know how long she travelled for, only that when she finally reached a tiny cluster of blood-red crystals, the sun had sunken below the horizon.

“Finally,” Darth Kharopos sighed. “I had hoped you would be quicker, but alas.”

Yen took out the harvesting tool and a small piece of the crystal chipped off easily at the lightest touch. It was like the crystal willingly lent her a part of itself. She turned around to face her master, and swallowed when she saw him frowning.

“Master?”

“We cannot fly the Phantom out tonight,” her master said, sounding more weary than irritated. At that statement, a loud strike of thunder made Yen jump.

She looked up: the sky was ablaze. Lightning strikes danced across the sunless, deep blue sky. There was a ferocity to the lightning’s jagged movements, like a storm was brewing, one that was wilder and more feral than the lightning storms of Dromund Kaas. The charged atmosphere made the hairs on her neck stand up, and yet, Yen cocked her head to the side. Something was missing.

There was no rain.

“Dromund Fels’ stratosphere is… unique,” Darth Kharopos growled. Yen had never seen her master this on edge before. “Attempting to take off now would leave you and me charred, so I hope you enjoy camping, apprentice.”

The dry sarcasm that dripped from her master’s voice made her throat tightened. Her master wasn’t afraid- no, fear was too strong a word. But he was uneasy, that much Yen could tell. And, if he was unnerved, Yen should be terrified.

“I don’t blame you, Yennevyr,” her master said, the words so quiet Yen almost missed it. “Timing is paramount. If the Force wanted you to spend the night on this dismal planet, then we will.”

Yen did not know how to reply. A silence fell between them, and no more words were exchanged as they set up shelter for the night. The tents provided by Imperial Intelligence were made to withstand all weathers, and provided a built-in cooling and heating system, designed to create a livable atmosphere for anyone inside. It came with a cushioned floor mat. Despite the tension in the air, sleep came surprisingly quickly. A chorus of what sounded like cicadas lulled her to slumber, their song like a lullaby.

Darkness overtook her.

When she stirred, it was still dim. As her eyes slowly opened and adjusted to the light , Yen saw the sporadic flashes of lightning in the dark sky above.

Yen shot straight up from her sleeping position.

Her tent was gone.

She was sitting on a moss-covered boulder with lightning flashing above and no tent encasing her.

Yen whipped her head around, frantically searching for-

The tents were gone.

Her master and his tent had seemingly disappeared into thin air.

Yen ran to the spot where she last saw the tents. It must be some trick: an advanced Force cloak, she desperately hoped. Perhaps, a mind game. Perhaps her master was playing a cruel trick on her. Perhaps she was being tested.

“Master!” she yelled out, more forceful than intended. “My lord!”

The cicadas went quiet, their gentle chirps halting upon hearing her shouts. The silence - the insect songs absent from it - was horrifying. Yen reached for the lightsaber hooked to her belt and ignited it-

No blade came out.

She tried again, repeatedly slamming her thumb against the button that would cause the saber to spring to life. That was when her Force senses caught up. Her stomach sunk, dropping in a nauseating swoop. It was impossible, but the proof was solid in her palm. Where the lightsaber used to hum with a reassuring Force energy, all she could sense now was a void. It was a cold void, emptier and frostier than anything she had felt before. The lightsaber didn’t suddenly become inert; it was as if something drained the very life out of its core.

Yen swore, still gripping the useless husk of the lightsaber hilt tightly in her hand.

She had to get out of here.

Yen began walking, and walking, and walking. Her footsteps grew frantic with each passing moment, and she felt like she was a goldfish in a bowl, repeating the same futile motions and not going anywhere. Yen stopped. If Darth Kharopos was here, he’d tell her to  _ think.  _ All of the woods looked the same. She had to find a landmark, something to act as a grounding point lest she get lost. She had to find a boulder that looked different, a tree that looked unlike any other.

That was when she saw  _ trees _ that were nothing like the rest.

It was a series of trees that seemed to grow in circles, forming an oval archway that spiralled into the distance. Like a doorway, or a gate. A pull tugged her forward, and inch by inch, Yen cautiously made her way towards the strange looking group of trees. Her hand gingerly touched the lichen covered bark, finding it wet with morning dew and cool against her skin. She took a shuddering breath and walked through the archway, moved by an uncanny intuition.

A giant, lop-sided stone slab awaited her at the other end. It looked ancient, Yen thought. As Yen got closer, she could see remnants of scripture worn down by time engraved onto the stone. What was it doing here? Perhaps this was a sign of civilization, of the local Sith who lived in these parts. Yen’s gaze fell to the forest floor, trying to discern some pattern.

That was when she felt a chill freezing her bones.

There were flowers on the ground. Deliberately placed flowers, forming labyrinthine swirls.

Yen had learned how to sense the dead buried under the Korriban sands back when she was an acolyte. In the months she had spent training under Darth Kharopos, the memories almost slipped from her mind, but certain experiences could never be forgotten- not now, not ever. Just as Yen had the epiphany back then that she had stumbled upon the ground zero of the Sith massacre, she too realized now that the stone before her was a tombstone and the earth she stood on was a grave. 

She collapsed to the ground, abasing herself before the tombstone. Her hands were clasped together, whether in prayer or in a sign of begging she did not know.

“Forgive me,” Yen whispered feverishly. “I didn’t mean to trespass.”

Just as she stood up and was about to walk away - to go anywhere that wasn’t _ here  _ \- something about the lopsidedness of the stone slab caught her eyes.

_ Oh. _

Without thinking, Yen reached out and straightened the tombstone so that it was no longer leaning. When Yen tried to move and leave the place once more, her feet felt like it was on quicksand. Her legs were glued in place, paralyzed by an invisible weight. Dawn was beginning to break, and a shadow fell over her. She’d recognize her master’s presence in an instant. It wasn’t Darth Kharopos.

“Why are you here,  _ Vhiyaq _ ?”

Yen screamed.

She woke up.

* * *

White was one of the colors Yen despised. Even if white looked elevated when paired with the right clothes, it was still plain, mind-numbingly dull, and garishly bright. Worse than that, it was  _ cold.  _ Not the sleek coolness of silver or the icy, electric blue, but cold like snow, like a void. The ceilings of the infirmary at Darth Kharopos’ estate were the most boring white color- a color Yen as all too familiar with after patching her post-training wounds here.

She blinked.

She was back on Dromund Kaas, lying on her back on an infirmary bed. How-

“Apprentice!”

Yen tried to move her head, only to wince at the sudden ache.

“Don’t move- not like that,” Darth Kharopos said. “Take it slow.”

Her muscles stiffened instinctually. She forced herself to breathe out, relaxing the knots on her neck and shoulders. Yen pushed herself up from her sleeping position, surprised to find a firm hand behind her back, giving her the much needed support. Her master was right next to her bed, scrutinizing her. Her eyes flickered down, relieved to find that she was still dressed the same way she was before departing for Dromund Fels.

A small, circular patch was attached to her wrist, connecting it to a machine that showed rising and falling lines signifying her pulse.

“Vitals are normal, my lord.”

Yen glanced at the medical droid which spoke, its voice coming from her left. She then drew her attention back to her master who rescinded his touch, but was still surveying her with a cool gaze.

“Apprentice… how are you feeling?”

Yen swallowed. “Disorientated but well, my lord.”

As her master took a step back, his eyes never left hers.

“What happened, Yennevyr?” he asked.

Yen tried to recall the dream. Was it a dream? She remembered the gravestone with strange letterings on it, and a woman’s voice sounded ghostly and furious. The words exchanged seemed to slip from her mind, the memory like fog in her grasp. Yen looked down at her belt, reaching for where she knew her lightsaber hilt should be, only to find it missing.

“Looking for this?” her master held up the familiar hilt. “Explain yourself, Yennevyr.”

Yen swallowed again, tasting bile at the back of her throat at the sudden surge of anxiety which rose within her. There it was: the sharpness she had been expecting from her master. The anger and accusation she had anticipated.

“I-I don’t know,” Yen muttered. “I’m not sure what happened, my lord.”

“Liar.”

Yen gaped. She clenched her fists. 

“Master,” Yen said slowly, keeping her tone levelled. “I am not lying.”

“Omitting or distorting the truth might as well count as lying,” Darth Kharopos said, raising his voice. “We already serve the sphere of spies and liars, apprentice. Must there be deception among us too?”

“I am not lying!” Yen snapped before she could help herself. “I am just as confused about this as you are!”

Her eyes widened. “My lord. I-I apologize-”

“Enough with that, Yennevyr,” Darth Kharopos interrupted. “You’re not sorry. Cease making up excuses.”

Darth Kharopos crossed his arms. His gaze flickered to the side, finally breaking the eye-contact. Yen reached for the blanket on her bed, rubbing the fabric between her fingers.

“I remembered waking up alone,” Yen said, looking at the infirmary bed before her, focusing her attention anywhere that wasn’t her master. “It was still dark. My lightsaber didn’t work. I walked through the woods… and then I woke up here, my lord.”

The memory of the gravestone was coming back to her, growing clearer with every moment. Still, Yen didn’t know where to even  _ begin. _ She’d have to explain the ghosts she met at Korriban, and then whatever ghost she met on Dromund Fels. A knot tightened in her throat.

“Is that all?” Darth Kharopos inquired. She felt the weight of his gaze on her once more.

She nodded her head, not trusting her voice to say ‘yes’ without breaking.

“I see,” he said. “Did you… not hear me call for you?”

Yen furrowed her brows. “I beg your pardon, my lord?”

“Through the Force, I meant. You were unconscious for over forty hours, Yennevyr,” her master replied. “I called for you through the Force to see if you would wake up.”

_ Forty hours?  _ Her slumber felt deep, but it did not feel like  _ that _ long had passed.

“No,” Yen answered. “No, my lord.”

Her master was silent for a tense moment.

“At least you’re not lying to me this time.”

* * *

Business resumed as usual the next day. Her master had allowed her to choose her own lightsaber hilt, something to construct a new lightsaber to house the newly acquired red crystal. Yen swore the kyber crystal had grown in size since she became unconscious, and its red seemed to flicker and flare in thumps, like a beating heart. The red color appeared to have become richer, the crystal having a greater depth to it too. Yet, her master made no comments regarding her observations, leading Yen to believe it was probably her overactive imagination or perhaps she truly was losing it. 

She ended up feeling drawn to a thin hilt of a dark silver-gray alloy called Cerakote that was lightweight and smooth to the touch. The lightsaber construction process was simpler than she expected. Telekinesis was used to assemble the different saber components together, and the process was intuitive even if Yen did not understand the mechanics behind the engineering of the saber hilt. The only issue came when the kyber crystal itself refused to fit the hilt. It was as if there was a barrier surrounding the crystal, a wall that made it impossible for Yen to encase the lightsaber hilt around the kyber crystal.

Yen pushed harder with the Force, trying to break whatever rebellious force field surrounded the kyber crystal. She pushed, and pushed- and sparks flew. Red sparks of burning phasma exploded in a tiny firework from the kyber crystal.

“I wouldn’t recommend using brute force,” her master’s voice made Yen jump. She had been so focused on assembling the saber she had not sensed his presence approaching.

She relaxed the hold of her telekinesis. Still, even as her mind relaxed, her body stiffened. There has been an uneasy tension between her and Darth Kharopos. Yen had thought about coming clean to her master about that dream, that vision, that experience or whatever it may be. Yet, Darth Kharopos was hard enough to talk to as it was, explaining the intricacies of what had occured seemed impossible to do.

“My lord?” she asked, still focused on the floating lightsaber pieces.

“Ease the crystal into the hilt,” Darth Kharopos said. “Coax it in. Ask it to be one with the lightsaber. Make the saber hilt feel like a home.”

Home. That was a word Yen tried not to think about. She took a deep breath and reached out to the kyber crystal. Her home was Celanon, and Celanon was irreplaceable. But, home was also its people: her father, her friends, her lover. Dromund Fels may have been the home of the kyber crystal, but she had hoped the semi-sentient crystal would consider her - and the lightsaber which was an extension of herself - to be its home too.

It was like calming a spooked animal. Soon, the components joined into one with a click. A complete lightsaber hung suspended in the air.

“You were slower than I expected,” Darth Kharopos murmured. Yen gritted her teeth.

She plucked the saber from the air and ignited the weapon. A red blade, like the blood-red sun, burst forth. Initially, its edges were frayed and unstable, but it quickly stabilized soon after. The blade felt warm in her hand.

Combat training resumed again. Yen hadn’t expected her master to give her a break after waking up from what was essentially a coma, but the ruthlessness of his attacks still took her by surprise. Each stroke was unsparingly efficient, targeting every mistake she made, every opening in her defense. Ever since Yen became apprenticed to Darth Kharopos, she had never won a battle against him. Now was no different, except she kept losing at an alarming rate, even with the assistance of the new saber that seemed much smoother to wield. With every loss, her master ordered her to get up, and then the cycle repeated until she was bruised and dripping with sweat by the time the hour was over.

Yen almost wished she had not awoken from her dream.

She had the afternoon to herself, in which she spent dabbing kolto ointments onto her bruised and sore muscles. Exhaustion overtook her that night, and when her alarm rang the following morning, Yen threw the blanket over her head to block out the noise. Still, she knew she was only prolonging the inevitable, and arriving late to training sessions was tantamount to getting punished.

Strangely, her master had asked her to meet him in his office.

The office was spotless and orderly. She gave her master a bow as she entered.

“I have an urgent mission for you,” Darth Kharopos explained. “A favour from a friend of mine.”

Yen held back a sigh. She wanted nothing more than to go back to bed.

“Vaverone Zare is a Sith apprentice in the Sphere of Mysteries. On an unsanctioned mission, she had gotten her hands on a holocron of Darth Nihilus. Anyone who knows Sith history knows the significance of this holocron. I believe she wishes to use the holocron as blackmail so she could swiftly rise to the rank of Darth- such tricks had been done before.”

She perked. A Sith going on an unsanctioned mission to blackmail her superiors? Yen could not help but be impressed. Unwillingly, the image of Malora popped into her mind.

“Zare has had… interactions with a few of our Cipher agents too. From what reports have described, I find that she is incredibly manipulative, guileful and persuasive. Zare is smart and cunning, but I believe she lacks the mental strength to avoid becoming corrupted by the holocron’s power. It would be such a waste should she were to lose her mind,” Darth Kharopos said. Yen frowned, noting the shift in his tone.

“Your official mission is to find where she is hiding and send me her coordinates- I will contact her master and he will handle the rest. Unofficially, I want you to ensure that she does not make the wrong decision of viewing the holocron before she is ready, and I want you to let her know that I wish to converse with her sometime in the future. Open a line of communication between us, so to speak.”

_ Oh. _

She commanded her face to remain impassive, forcing her fingers to remain straightened and not curl into fists. Yen swallowed thickly. Vaverone Zare must truly be something special.

She could not recall her master speaking of herself in such a reverent manner.

“Understood, my lord,” Yen said coolly.

With the intelligence tools at her disposal, it did not take long for her to locate Zare’s last known location to be at Tatooine. 

* * *

The planet’s sandy dunes reminded her too much of Korriban. At least there were cantinas, Yen thought. She had planned to ask around for someone resembling Zare. She had prepared an elaborate story to try and distract Zare long enough for her to stay on Korriban until her master received her location. Yen pulled her hood up and wrapped a scarf around her neck and lower face, shielding herself against the sands that blew in the wind.

She made her way into the city, blending unnoticed into the ground. A sign advertising a cantina caught her eyes, and Yen approached it. What she had not accounted for when she walked into the nearest cantina was to find a bar fight.

Luck was on her side.

Seeing an array of blaster bolts heading in her direction the moment she stepped through the doors, Yen raised a Force shield, deflecting the bolts away. She saw a woman with straight bowl-cut bangs, dressed in a red top that showed off her chest and midriff, fighting against a man dressed in what she recognized to be Jedi robes. Her heart hammered, and Yen reached for her lightsaber.

The Jedi noticed the flash of red, but flanked between two Siths, he was outnumbered.

Just as he attempted to whirl around to land a hit on her, Yen blocked him with her lightsaber. She locked blades with him. In that second, a flickering violet light lit up the room. Lightning sprung forth from Zare’s fingertips, trapping the Jedi in its electric grasp. Yen watched, as a scream tore through his throat and his body convulsed in pathetic spasms. She glanced at Zare, who gave her a nod.

Yen plunged her lightsaber through the Jedi’s chest, and his body dropped dead to the floor.

Whatever crowds there were in the battlescarred cantina had fled, leaving only a bartender and a few barmaids cowering behind tables.

“You stole my kill,” Vaverone Zare said, her voice low. Yen was slammed into a wall before she could get her bearings, and Zare’s hands pinned her body against the hard surface.

All Yen could think about was how, being inches away from her, Zare smelled like blood, sweat and berries.

“And you ruined my evening,” Yen replied curtly. “I came here for a drink, and instead got myself a dead Jedi - how exquisite.”

Zare’s eyes burned. The weight of her left hand that pressed against Yen’s body rescinded, and Zare lifted up her hand to Yen’s cheek, caressing it as if she was some adorable pet. Yen did not miss the blood caked on Zare’s sharp nails, nor can she ignore the scent of bloody iron mingled with Zare’s decadent perfume.

“You’re Sith,” Zare whispered. “Barely one, but you  _ are _ Sith.”

Yen swallowed, hardening her eyes and nerves.

“Anyone who interferes with my business usually ends up dead,” Zare cocked her head to the side where the Jedi’s body laid still. “But you  _ do _ have such a pretty face. How about we settle this with a drink?”

Yen smiled wryly. “We’ll take turns paying, how about that? I’ll buy the first round.”

Love between women was beautiful. When two women meet and their hearts beat the same, there will be some intimate, innate understanding, like slipping into each other’s skins. However, violence between women can be terrifying too. Women play grisly mind games with one another: two vicious minds intertwining, trying to strangle the other, to poison the other - like poison ivy, or claws hidden in velvet gloves.

One drink became two and two drinks became ten. The evening became a blur as Yen downed drinks after drinks. If words were swords, there’d be gore scattered across the floor. Yen tried to cling to her anger, hoping that envy and wrath would be the spice that cleared her mind. She deflected Zare’s questions about her purpose on Tatooine with the ease of a chronic liar. She tried to find an inconspicuous moment to discreetly reach for her holo and transmit their coordinates to her master, but Zare watched her like a hawk.

Her head pounded. She kept her lips tight, her secret close. Still, the world seemed to spin, the lights becoming much too bright, the music too loud.

Yen stared hard down the empty shot glass before her. When she looked up, she felt warm lips crashing into hers. Vaverone tasted like malt and absinthe.

When was the last time she’d let herself be swept off her feet, falling effortlessly into affairs? When was the last time she’d given herself away openly, completely, not caring about the consequences? With her mind blurry from the alcohol and blinded by the exquisite taste of Zare’s lips and tongue, it was all too easy to let herself be seduced.

* * *

She woke up with her head hammering. The pillow smelled too sweet, her blanket too warm.

Memories came rushing back.

Her outer coat was missing, sprawled across the cool tiled floors. Her padded armor was also discarded on a nearby chair. Yen reached for her belt, grinding her teeth upon finding no lightsaber nor holo.

“Ah, you’re awake!” she heard Vaverone Zare call out from the other side of the room. Yen sat up and glared at the woman. Zare was not looking at her, instead she was focused intently on Yen’s missing holo. Yen’s fists curled.

“What do you think you are doing!” Yen barked out. “What-What have you done to me?”

Zare placed the holo on a desk before turning around. An ugly smirk twisted her features.

“I did nothing _ you _ didn’t ask me to, Yennevyr,” Zare sneered. “Your legs were trembling, my dear. It was clear no one had licked your cunt in years. You wanted me, and begged me to finish you. Have you forgotten already, darling?”

“Don’t call me that!”

Yen got up and dressed herself, recollecting her clothes and Force-summoning her lightsaber from Zare’s hiding space. She marched up to Zare, flaring her Force presence as much as she could. Yen no longer hid the wrath in her eyes, her desire to shove a blistering lightsaber down the woman’s throat, her burning itch to deform that smug face of Zare’s. She snatched her holo back from Zare’s grasps, fuming at how the woman only grinned in response.

“I must admit, Imperial Intelligence is truly good at what they do,” Zare taunted. “All I could see before the encryptions stopped me was that your name is Yennevyr Airen, and you belong to the spies and creeps.”

Yen began typing the command to send their coordinates to her master, preparing herself to hold the woman down by any means necessary.

“May I ask: who do you serve?” Zare inquired with a fake coyness. “I wonder which Sith is dumb enough to take you as their apprentice. You’re sloppy, and  _ easy _ .”

Yen’s fingers hovered mid-air, pausing her typing mid-sentence. She imagined blood dripping from her nails, carnage between her fingers, and closed the holo.

“You’re right,” Yen said, slowly turning to face Zare. “I am here to steal your holocron of Darth Nihilus, and all of this talk makes me wonder: why haven’t you opened it yet? I’m here to stop you from opening it, because the powers above are afraid that you’ll learn something that’ll make you too strong. Are they wrong to fear you?

Zare laughed, the voice like nails piercing eardrums.

“So this is what it’s about! You want to watch the holocron too, don’t you?” Zare smirked. “I’ll reward you- you were  _ marvelous  _ last night. All you have to do is _ beg _ .”

Silence stretched for several seconds.

“May I watch the holocron?” Yen said, her voice small at first. “Darth Nihilus is the Lord of Hunger- I need his powers. You don’t know what it’s like to be bound to a master like mine. I want freedom, and so I  _ need  _ power.”

Yen allowed desperation to creep into her voice. Zare was on a power trip. Power in her mind, power in her heart. To have Yen debasing herself before her, kissing her feet like a love-sick worm was what Zare wanted.

“Vaverone,  _ please, _ ” she implored, letting breathiness engulf her tone. “If I return to my master empty handed, I might as well hang myself.”

Zare cackled, and began opening a compartment hidden in her bag. There it was: the blood-red glow of an ancient holocron. “It’s not so hard to say please now, is it?”

The moment a wretched voice echoed forth from the holocron which opened up like a blood-splattered lotus blooming, Yen began reciting quotes and poetry in her mind. She willed the noise of her inner monologue to be louder than the eldritch sound of Darth Nihilus speaking. Yen averted her gaze to the floor, focusing on a chip in the tiles.  _ Don’t listen, don’t look _ , Yen reminded herself, repeating the mantra over and over. On the other hand, Zare was enraptured by the anglerfish glow, her eyes and ears glued to the necrotic teachings of a tortured, long-dead Sith.

Yen forced herself to move. Every limb felt like it was pushing through mud. Her mind was still fuzzy, as if still awakening from a foggy dream. Her hands touched the hilt of her lightsaber and her fingers wrapped themselves around the cool metal.

She ignited the saber, and in one swift motion impaled Vaverone Zare through the heart.

* * *

Yen walked into her master’s office like a red-caped queen strutting to her execution. Until now, she had never heard her master raise his voice, not to this level. She took every admonishment with a blank stare, unable to muster the energy to fake remorse.

“Nowhere in my instructions did I say murder Zare!” Darth Kharopos shouted. “Zare’s master contacted me to locate his wayward apprentice and now I return to him with a clearly assassinated corpse. Worse, your Force presence is like oily fingerprints stamped all over the crime scene- he  _ will _ know that a Sith killed Zare. He is not only a Darth, but also the nephew of Darth Rictus and a close ally of the Dark Council. Do you understand the predicament you leave me in?”

Yen’s gaze was unfocused, as if trapped in a half-dream. She saw her master but stared right through him, not seeing him in her vision. His words felt like it was worlds away, like a faded memory from decades ago, remembered in wispy smokes. When she did not answer, her master gripped her by the shoulders. In the many months since she met Darth Kharopos, she only recalled him touching her thrice: the first time on Korriban upon their initial accidental meeting, the second time after she had awoken from her coma and now  _ this.  _ The strength of his grip reminded her too much of how Zare pinned her to the wall, arrogant and malevolent.

“Yennevyr! Are you listening to me?”

She blinked twice. “Yes, my lord.”

It was the flat tone she was used to saying to her Hutt masters.

“Why did you kill her?” Darth Kharopos asked, weary exasperation lining his voice. “Answer me!”

Zare’s viper smirk flashed through Yen’s mind.

“Because I wanted to,” Yen replied. “Because I hated her.”

Darth Kharopos seemed to consider her for a moment, before releasing his hold on her. 

“Did you think I was going to replace you with her?”

“Of course not, my lord,” the lie was instantaneous.

It seemed they were both liars. Darth Kharopos falsified a report to Zare’s master, claiming that Zare had fallen to temptation and was too weak-willed and lost her mind to Darth Nihilus’ holocron. They stated that holocron had driven her insane, causing her to enter a state of frenzy. She was mentally broken, and a danger to both herself and others, and so Yennevyr was left with no choice but to put her down. It was a probable scenario- one that painted Yennevyr as a dutiful Sith who did what had to be done.

Yen still expected punishment and the suspenseful wait - waiting and waiting and  _ waiting _ for the guillotine to drop - was more agonizing than whatever torture she had imagined in her mind. Days passed, and her master never raised his voice nor had his hands brushed against her in any manner again. The cool distance between them returned. If looks could kill, then the icy contemptuousness she felt through her master’s gaze meant that she was dying a death by a thousand cuts.

During their training sessions, Yen did not feel the injuries anymore. No matter how often she was flung aside by the Force, how much her limbs ached from the impact of failing to withstand attacks, it no longer computed in her mind the fact that bruises were meant to hurt. If her master noticed her lack of effort, her lethargic apathy amid the sparring, then he did not remark upon it. Yen wondered if he was genuinely invested in training her, or if he too was going through the motions until something better came along.

When night fell, and lonely splatters of stars adorned the sky, Yen retreated to her room. She ignited her lightsaber for a second and then turned the blade off. One second was enough to leave the topmost hilt of the lightsaber heated, momentarily radiating red. She pressed the still-hot metal onto her skin, cherishing the brief flash of pain. The sensation took hours to fully fade away.

Yen clung to the afterglow.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yen reaches her breaking point.
> 
> "[...] For in that voice I heard the first God die, and with that I came upon the Altar and slid the Knife into us both."  
> \- Khiazmos

Lightning was like a beast which snarled and growled under her touch, threatening to bite her. She had never liked it: not when she saw the blue-violet strikes bursting forth from the hands of her fellow Sith on Korriban, not when the sky over Dromund Kaas lit up in thunderous flashes, and certainly not now, as she attempted to let lightning burn through her veins and unleash itself from her tingling fingertips. The electrical explosion that she caused felt like a pathetic attempt a child might make to command an untamable force of nature. She could hear her master’s critique before he even said them.

The lightning bursts were too short, too sporadic. Unfocused. She had a dismal amount of control. 

Her hands shook, her skin still feeling the static from the aftermath of that latest attack. Yen gathered her strength once more, condensing her powers into an electrically charged ball in between her palms, like a fragile god struggling to birth a star.

“Stop,” Darth Kharopos said, his words punctuated by a sharp coolness that made her stomach drop. “You look like you are about to faint- I doubt we will make any further progress today.”

Yen allowed the energy to fizzle out before turning around to face her master, leaving the partially charred target practice doll behind. She swallowed upon seeing his impassive gaze.

“Have you been resting well, Yennevyr?” her master asked, the question taking her aback.

She nodded numbly. What else was she supposed to say?

“I need you to be in peak conditions, ready to be deployed on an assignment at a moment’s notice.”

The statement made Yen sound like she was some aircraft or some tool to be used. If her veins were wires and her muscles were metal, she imagined the wirings to be frayed and the metal rusty. She murmured an acknowledgement, and her master dismissed her with a hand wave, warning her that she will likely be given an off-planet mission tomorrow. Yen walked wordlessly back to her room, her feet dragging and shoulders slumping.

Yen collapsed onto her bed, sinking into the softness. On days which she knew her master would not be training her, she often found herself slumbering at the break of dawn and waking at sunset. If her master would be training her the next day, she’d set an alarm to wake just in time for the session, even if the sleep was erratic the night before.

She woke just in time to answer her master’s summons.

“This should be easy,” her master said, his attention focused on the datapad in his hand. “Our target is a Force-blind individual, an elusive smuggler who has been stealing assets from the Empire. Eliminating him is a simple matter but our goal is greater than that.”

Another mission, Yen thought, another chance to fail.

“Our true objective is to find out how the smuggler managed to pinpoint the weaknesses in our supply chain,” Darth Kharopos continued. “Do we have a mole in the Sphere of Production and Logistics? Is there a glaring flaw in our defenses that we are overlooking?”

She blinked blankly, and nodded. “Understood, my lord.”

He transferred the data to her, and Yen was faced with an image of a bearded middle-aged man with a balding head. The man looked normal, like someone she may have walked past in a crowd on a crosswalk, the type of face she’d pay no heed to. His name was Jon Taramus- a name that rang no bells in her memories. The man was spotted heading towards Republic space, his final destination was presumably somewhere in the inner rim It was noted that Imperial forces had intercepted him attempting to refuel his starship on Dromund Kaas, which was when he fled before he could be caught and captured.

It meant the ship was low on fuel, and if he was heading towards the inner rim...

“I know a fueling station he might stop by at,” Yen said. She marked the coordinates upon her map and shared it with her master.

“Good,” Darth Kharopos said. “Take the Phantom- its speed should be faster than Taramus’ starship. You should be able to arrive there before him if you depart soon.”

With that, Yen gave a curt bow and began to step out of her master’s office, preparing to head towards the hangar.

“Oh, and Yennevyr-” her master called out from behind. “If you cannot extract the desired information from Taramus, then simply capture him and bring him to me. I will interrogate him myself, and you can observe my methods.”

Yen glanced back. Darth Kharopos eyes were inscrutable, and the rebreather he wore only obscured the rest of his expression, making him even more unreadable. She wondered if there was a hidden meaning behind his words, a veiled threat of some sort. Did he expect her to fail to interrogate Taramus?

“Understood, master.”

She gave a final bow and marched to the hangar, chaining the anxious thoughts to the back of her mind.

* * *

Jon Taramus was not as invisible nor smart as he thought he was. The moment he made his way into a darkened backstreet was the moment he signed his death sentence. A red glow lit up the dimmed alley, and a blood-red lightsaber hummed centimeters away from his neck. He nervously reached for a blaster pistol attached to his belt, and Yen pressed the saber blade closer against his skin, singing the edge of his beard.

“Drop your weapons, or I’ll cut off your head.”

Compliance came easily, and as blasters and vibroblades clattered onto the cracked concrete, Yen placed the smuggler in binds and handcuffs. She pinned the man against the wall, ignoring the pained groans he made at her rough grip and the ugly way she twisted his limbs. Yen pulled out a syringe from inventory and jabbed the man with the needle, pressing down on the glass with her thumb. Within seconds, the man was paralyzed, a ragdoll for her to play with however she wished so.

Yen dragged him to his starship and left his body sprawled on the copper floor. When the paralysis started to wear off, Yen lifted him by the neck back onto his feet, partially strangling him with her Force hold.

“I will ask and you will answer,” she said, glaring at the struggling older man. “I know you are stealing from the Empire. How did you know where to target?”

The man began laughing, a mocking guffaw that soon turned into gasps and wheezes as Yen tightened the choke around his throat.

“Answer me, scum!”

There was no way he could speak with oxygen squeezed from his lungs. She released him from the Force choke, wrinkling her nose at the way he coughed and hacked when he could breathe again.

“Jon Taramus… do you know what it is like to die by a noose?” Yen asked, her tone chilly. “When the body is close to death, the instincts kick in. You’d be clawing at your throat, like some suicide-gone-wrong victim who regretted their attempt a little too late. When people hang themselves, their eyes bulge out, their blood vessels burst and they shit themselves upon death. Your corpse would stink of muck and feces for days and days, and the street rats would eat whatever remains. Is that how you want your funeral to go?”

Yen thought she’d feel a sick kind of elation or even disgust at herself in the sadistic way in which she watched the man’s eyes widened, gazing lazily at how he squirmed against his binds. All she felt instead was impatience.

“I don’t have a rope with me, but I do have the Force,” she said, her voice dropping low. “The end result is the same.”

His breathing became heavy, and the tremble in his body was unmistakable.

“Y-you can’t scare me, Sith!” Taramus said. “I know the risks I took. I-I’m not scared to die.”

Yen scoffed. The arc of her lightning had lacked elegance, and from afar should she were to shoot lightning at her enemies it was very likely that she would miss. But now, her target was a gunpoint away from her. Her hands trembled, filled to the brim with power that was waiting to burst forth, a barely contained wrath that had been bubbling beneath the surface for far too long. Her fingertips heated up, the skin glowing an electric purple.

She pointed her hands at the man’s chest, and he screamed. Her vision was blinded by lights of white and violet. The stench of singed flesh and ozone filled her nostrils.

“All I need to know is where you got your information from,” Yen moved closer to the man, glaring at him eye to eye. “Is there a traitor in the Empire? A mole?”

Taramus furrowed his brow. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, I swear- I swear!”

She cocked her head and reached out through the Force, surprised to find genuine confusion.

“Speak,” she commanded, balling up another orb of lightning in her palms.

“You Imps are so arrogant you don’t realize how predictable your flight patterns are! I don’t need a mole to figure out where and when goods are being transferred, to see the weak link in your supply chain. I-I know how to run some analytics, how to work with data. That’s all there is to it- just data.”

Taramus was gloating, and she fumed. A proper Sith may have electrocuted the man once more, but Yen’s hands shook in rage, hungering for physical violence. Yen slapped him across the face, leaving behind an angry red patch of skin. Taramus yelped- the sound only added to her vexation. She struck him again, this time scraping her nails across his leathery cheek. She ignored his cries, and whirled around, making her way to the nearest terminal aboard the starship. With the aid Imperial Intelligence had provided her, bypassing the security was a piece of cake and Yen found herself ransacking the files for any evidence of foul play, any proof of treachery.

All she found was a program, coded to detect changes in Imperial space flight patterns. 

At that moment, a holo rang. It wasn’t hers.

The ringing and buzzing came from the pocket of Taramus’ raggedy coat. Yen motioned the holo to telekinetically fly into her palm, her eyes narrowing at the blinking lights.

“Please… don’t- no-”

With her left hand, she strangled the man once more until he was speechless and spluttering. With her right hand, Yen answered the call, selecting to reply only through audio.

“Papa, where are you now? There’s a solar storm coming- you should steer clear if you can!”

It was a girl, her perky voice still youthful and bright. She must’ve been no older than her late teens, ignorant of the missions her father was involved in. Yen switched the call off, and relaxed her Force choke. Taramus was pleading again, begging with a cracking and tearful voice. The words sounded like they were light years away, and she rushed to get away, to run away from those pleas of a father who only wanted to go home, to not make an orphan of his daughter.

Yen paced until she found herself at the far end of the spaceship, where the cargo were stocked in tight spaces. A frustrated scream escaped from her before she could stop it. She ignited her saber, and slashed the cargo boxes open like slicing the belly of some beasts. Only, instead of guts spilling out, all she saw were medpacs. Every other storage box was filled with some variation of the same medicinal supply. It was obvious now that Taramus was stealing Imperial medicine and smuggling them into the Republic. He wasn’t a thief who stole arms nor other nefarious military goods. Tamarus wasn’t a burglar who was fencing weapons of mass destruction.

Yen stomped back to the terminal and downloaded the information she could find on Taramus’ investigation into Imperial supply lines, and when she returned to face the man again, he looked despicably pathetic. He was a man with puffy red eyes and tear streaks running down his cheeks. She reignited her saber, swallowing hard at the way the man began trembling in abject horror.

She cut his binds free.

“Go,” Yen whispered. “Take this experience as a final warning to stay away from the Empire.”

The smuggler gaped, and gawked and spluttered. “W-What?”

“Are you deaf, old man?” Yen barked out, pointing her saber in his direction. “I said go! Get out of here before I change my mind.”

The man ran, and she was left all alone in a lifeless starship.

Pre-planned excuses were running through her mind. Perhaps the data she recovered would be enough to call the mission a success. Yet, would her master believe the lie that she was weak enough to lose a fight against a Force-blind smuggler, allowing him to narrowly escape?

She imagined the guillotine. She’d die for lying, or die for being weak.

Yen had seen a blackened body once in her life, and that was the day she broke free from Phuthar the Hutt. She still remembered the scent of charred flesh vividly, how the burnt fat smelled like overcooked pork and only after realizing where the smell was coming from did she gagged. The image of the Hutt’s blackened husk - looking less like a body and more like a lumpy bit of flesh scorched into coal - was something that returned to her on quiet nights, again and again. She had pondered, if not for the context in which Phuthar’s corpse was discovered at, would anyone realize that the body before them belonged to Phuthar and not just some random Hutt elsewhere? After all, ashes contained no DNA. There were no traces of life among soot.

With that memory in mind, Yen found a junkie shooting up some spice the next alleyway over and stabbed him through the chest before he could realize what was happening.

His lightning-charred corpse resembled Taramus enough.

* * *

Weeks before the current mission, Yen had told herself that she didn’t want to die- not really. She didn’t want to be executed, not by her master’s hands and certainly not here, not in this soulless place. Darth Kharopos’ home was never her home, for how could she make a home out of blank walls and cool floors? On a day when she was informed that her master was preoccupied with some Dark Council business, Yen made her way into the jungles outside Kaas city. The shaded trees and damp soil gave her comfort, especially in the way the wilderness was unabashedly untamed, growing and thriving despite the urbanization of Kaas city. It was inspiring, now nature was unapologetic in its existence.

Towards the south jungles, Yen climbed her way to a cliff that overlooked a bog below. The view was breathtaking: beyond the patches of trees and swamp, Kaas city shone in the distance, its electric lights like a beacon on the stormy planet. Night was approaching, and clouds of white and grey were dabbled across the sky. The cliff Yen stood on was tall - incredibly so - and below it were jagged rocks, slick with rainwater amid the mud and dirt. 

If she were to jump, at least her corpse would feed the worms.

When Yen landed back on Dromund Kaas once more, she had felt a pull tugging her towards that cliff’s edge. She steeled her will and chose to return to her master’s office first- she still had a mission to report, unfinished work to complete.

Upon seeing her master once again, her heart thumped, half-expecting her deception to be unmasked there and then.

Instead, he didn’t even care.

The air was tense in the headquarters of Imperial Intelligence. There was something bigger going on, a larger problem plaguing the mind and attention of the Sith and Imperials working there. Upon hearing her summary of the mission, Darth Kharopos gave her a terse dismissal. It was as if she was wasting everyone’s time.

Yen returned to her bedroom, limbs sagging. It was one of those nights again, where she’d bury her face in a pillow and stay in that position for however long until she needed to gasp for breath once more. It was one of those wretched nights where she’d wished her heart would just give up. She wished that when sleep took her, she’d dream she was back on Celanon with a sweet cocktail in her hand. When dawn roused her awake, she had hoped she would truly be there, that time would reverse like a river flowing backwards.

It took her master two whole days to call her in for an urgent meeting.

His eyes were burning.

Those eyes, red like the sun at dawn, were burning with a magnetizing depth to it - a stark difference to the iciness she had grown used to. Taramus’ daughter had warned her father about a solar storm - that was what Darth Kharopos felt like right now, a storm of fire, with the gravity of a planet and the devastation of an irradiated star. His anger could not be mistaken for anything else, and as the door slid closed behind her, Yen wondered if this was it.

It was a surprise enough that her master let her live this long after so obviously sabotaging the previous mission with Zare. Lightning rarely struck twice, and Yen expected there to be severe repercussions should the truth be discovered that she intentionally let Taramus escape.

“Faking a death only works if the supposedly deceased person disappears,” Darth Kharopos said, and Yen shivered. His voice was quiet, but it was brimming with fury, the edges of his words like sharpened hot blades. The screen behind her master lit up, showing a security feed of Taramus and a teenage girl fixing up a speeder together. “What are you playing at, apprentice?”

Her master stepped closer and Yen stumbled backwards, finding her back colliding with a cool wall.

“Taramus was working alone, he was no threat-”

“That does not excuse you letting a known thief and smuggler escape!” Darth Kharopos snapped. “Worst of all, you deliberately falsified evidence, making it seem like Taramus was eliminated.”

“He was stealing medpacs-”

“He was exploiting a flaw within the Empire!”

Yen shut her mouth. She felt her master’s force presence stifling her, the air noticeably feeling heavier all around her.

“What mattered was that if a lone smuggler could do it, then anyone else could do the same and disrupt the transfer of goods in and out of Imperial space,” her master said. “And you are wrong too: the operations may have been accomplished by Taramus alone, but the program he was using… I am certain it was created by another party.”

“My lord, you are just speculating-”

“Do you think Imperials are stupid, Yennevyr?” Darth Kharopos glared at her, and pushed closer to her- too close. His presence, _him_ \- Yen felt like a cornered animal. “There are many fail safes and procedures used to obfuscate the precise location of vital supply lines from the public eye. A no-name smuggler saw through them. Do you not see the dangers that could lead to?”

Yen’s breathing was shallow. She felt goosebumps prickling her skin, an icy chill running down her spine. His eyes were scorching into hers, his anger so bright she wanted to look away, shielding her gaze against his burning fury.

“Why did you do it?” Darth Kharopos asked, his voice controlled, the wrath locked in. At this point, she had expected him to be yelling at her. Yen almost _wanted_ him to shout at her instead. “Why could you not just do what you are told?”

She narrowed her eyes. _Because I’m not a slave,_ she thought.

“Taramus deserved to live,” Yen answered.

Her cry was instantaneous. The body reacted first, and it took her mind a few seconds to comprehend that _this_ was what true Sith lightning felt like. The lightning lasted no more than the length of a few heartbeats, and yet it was blinding, the shock all-consuming. It left her mind dazed, momentarily stunned. She laid twitching on the floor, wrapping her arms around her torso in a futile attempt at defense. The scars under her vambraces burned.

“Such _arrogance_.”

Disgust was worse than hate. She looked up, chins trembling, only to see her pathetic self reflected in the ruby of her master’s gaze. When she spoke again, her voice sounded strangled.

“I failed you twice. Dispose of me however you see fit, my lord.”

Yen closed her eyes, and pictured her blackened, decapitated corpse. What was the least dignified way to die? Perhaps it wasn’t the death that mattered, but what came after it. A loving funeral was the final proof that once upon a time, you were wanted and cared for. A body desecrated or left to rot was the greatest insult one could give an enemy.

Seconds crawled by, and Yen heard the familiar sounds of heavy boots clanking against the polished floors.

Her eyes flew open. She watched as her master walked away, the doors sliding shut after him, leaving her alone in the cold office. His footsteps faded into the distance.

Disdain was worse than death.

* * *

Dromund Kaas had two moons: only one was visible tonight. Under the dim light of the night sky, Yen strolled her way past the edges of Kaas city, allowing the concrete of the urban metropolist to dissolve away into muddy dirt and wet foliage. The rain was drizzling, and she felt it dripping down the length of her hair, down her neck and arms and legs. She had left her outer coat hanging on a chair in her room, but it didn’t matter now. The rain gleamed silver under the moonlight - celestial radiance trapped in the water droplets.

Glancing down at the puddle beneath her feet, Yen saw herself soaked in the silver.

She tore her gaze away from the reflection and kept walking, ignoring the way her limbs shivered. The rain only heightened the chill in the air, but a part of her was grateful for that. The cold was numbing, like an anesthetic, like frostbite desensitizing one’s nerves. It certainly soothed the ache in her forearms.

Since her master shot her with lightning that day, her nonexistent scars began aching again.

The memory felt like a figment of a dream, yet Yen could never forget the time Papa caught her with her forearms bleeding, a kitchen knife in her hand. He said that if she wanted to die so bad, he’d buy her a proper blade so she can kill herself in one clean cut. Gisele tried to reassure her, claiming that Papa was just joking - that he was attempting reverse psychology, that he had a morbid sense of humor. To this day, she’s not certain if Gisele was right.

Kolto became her friend, and from then on, her skin had always looked smooth and flawless no matter what she did to it.

It didn’t make sense that Sith lightning could spark up the old sensations.

She shook her head, clearing the fog from her mind. Yen kept walking, brushing the branches and leaves aside and making her way deeper into the jungle. There were no roads, no pavement within the wilderness, only grass and earth. As she trekked uphill, Yen hoped the rain would wash her footsteps away too.

_Let the rain erase me._

She tilted her head back and gazed up at the moon, a bone-white orb. Her eyes then turned downwards, and a faint smile touched her lips. She was at the cliff once more. Faces flashed through her mind, nostalgia twisting her guts. She inched closer, shuffling nearer to the edge until she could see the jagged rocks below. She scrunched her eyes shut. Even now, she didn’t want to see how it would end.

She jumped-

Only to find herself lurching back, tugged by an invisible bind that pulled at her torso. A Force pull, Yen realized. Her eyes snapped open just as she landed back on solid ground, the impact hard and sudden. Strong arms then wrapped around her in a durasteel vice-grip, holding her tight.

“Just what do you think you are doing!”

Yen’s eyes prickled, hot tears stinging at the periphery of her vision. She recognized those white gloves, that gravelly voice. She struggled against her master’s clutch.

“Let me go! Let go of-”

“No! Not when you’ll just head for that cliff- Yen, stop- please…”

Her shoulders trembled, the tears finally spilling over, mingling with the rain. The icy waters were cold, the chill soaking through her skin and deep into her very bones. Her whole body shook. The moon bore witness to her wails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yen expected criticism, believing that she was being critiqued when her master barely said anything. If she was in a more healthy mindset, she should be able to tell that her master was genuinely worried about her lackluster performance, especially after the previous disastrous mission. She can be a very, very unreliable narrator. Her childhood sounded good on paper. Spoiled brat, lavished in luxury. Except, the very first chapter shows her being trained to become a femme fatale, groomed to take on her father’s place as queen of the Celanonian criminal underworld. The pressure on her was immense. Hence, the drinking issues. She idolized her father, seemingly so. Except, this chapter shows a memory resurfacing of her father’s less-than-helpful reaction to her self harm and how Yen lost trust in him, in asking for help. Her family life was never as good as she remembered or wished it to be.
> 
> The mask is cracking.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery takes time.
> 
> "My heart has learned to beat again."  
> \- Khiazmos

Since the completion of Yennevyr’s first mission, something was different. Clearly, something had changed. An ever so slight frown in her eyebrows even as she kept her head lowered. The way her hands twitched, yearning for the blade, seeking to twist her fingers around its hilt as if she was strangling a man’s neck. Darth Kharopos had seen her files. The girl who burnt her Hutt owners alive could never be a pliant servant nor a meek apprentice debasing herself before her master.

The rage in her eyes should’ve made him proud, for an all-consuming wrath was the path to an all-consuming need to win. Until now, it was obvious that Yennevyr merely wanted to survive, never mind thriving or spearheading a Sith victory against the Republic. To see that mask of docility cracking at long last - his apprentice finally lashing out - was a mark of her growth.

But then came the sabotage.

He had read the reports on the autopsy and the eye-witness accounts of Yennevyr drinking with Zare - right before the murder. With the death of Jon Taramus, it became obvious that something was deeply wrong.

The Force was screeching at him that night. It was obvious: so garishly obvious it was blinding.

The moon’s silver glare was cold, and the rain that poured down chilled him to the bones. He pulled her close, and held her tight. The warmth of her body was proof that he wasn’t hugging a corpse. Her shoulders trembled. He was grateful for the movement, an evidence of life, that she was still feeling _something_ and something was better than nothing. Her cries tore into his heart like snake fangs, biting into raw flesh.

He was her master. He had a duty of care.

* * *

“It’s not your fault, Tyrkos.”

It was not often that Tyrkos Rosokor - a name he rarely heard nowadays - called home. Rarer were the moments in which he explicitly asked for advice. Usually, he was the one who received those worried calls, quickly brushing them aside as there was not much he could discuss with anyone outside of Imperial Intelligence anyway. The nature of the work demanded secrecy, and nothing ever escaped his lips unless it was intentional.

He felt like a kid once more, staring at the holo of his stepmother. Darth Labrys looked just as regal as ever, with her hair tied back loosely, and the distinctive golden circlet upon her head. The blue holo failed to depict her bright red skin, yet no one would dare mark her as anything less than Sith.

“I know she isn’t made out of glass; she survived the trials of Korriban after all,” Darth Labrys elaborated. “But what she needs now is for you to be understanding. You have to be patient with her- be _gentle_ , Tyrkos. _”_

It has been three weeks. Darth Kharopos had sent Yennevyr to undergo mental consulting, just like the battle-scarred Cipher agents sometimes had to do so. He may have never known despair, not truly - not like the traumatized soldiers he’d seen returning from surviving a mission they were not meant to survive. He’d seen their haunted eyes, and he still could not understand how he had not noticed the same look reflected in the eyes of his apprentice.

He could only recall one instance, a brief moment after a sparring session. Exhaustion had stripped away all pretense of strength. Her gaze seemed distant, her mind elsewhere - whether it was somewhere better or worse than Dromund Kaas, he could not tell. When her stare met his, instead of seeing her master, she looked like she saw a ghost.

“Tyrkos are you listening to me?”

His attention snapped back.

“Yes, of course,” he replied. “But what do I actually do? What do I say? How do I-”

“Your apprentice is a person, not a puzzle!”

Tyrkos shut his mouth. He watched as his mother pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling once again like an acolyte who could not understand the lesson being taught. Darth Labrys had hands that could heal. She could tend to a dying plant and nurse it back to health until flowers bloomed again. She could touch a person, lending them her strength, until their wounds closed and the cuts were sealed. His eyes fell down onto his gloved hands, and his fingers curled into fists.

“I have to go now,” his mother said suddenly. He looked up at her, feeling a tug at his heart upon seeing her warm, reassuring smile. “Just give her time. Recovery takes time.”

Her holo flickered out of existence, and he was left staring at grey walls.

Today was going to be a long day.

The ongoing task he had was to assist Darth Jadus with his tour of the Imperial space, the planned trip of the Dominator to bring thousands of dignitaries, Sith and slaves into the sky and show them the splendor of Jadus’ vision of the galaxy. Jadus never gave any of his Sith subordinates full details of what the actual tour would consist of, nor what exactly his ‘vision’ entailed. All Darth Kharopos had to do was be ready to be called upon, to assist Jadus in whatever manner necessary at a moment’s notice.

He felt like a secretary.

Then, of course, there was the debacle with the Eagle. Keeper seemed competent enough and Darth Kharopos was content to let the man decide on the appropriate course of action.

Therefore, the only pressing issue he had to deal with now was the summons from Darth Acharon. Earning the attention of any Dark Council member was a double-edged blade, one he intended to keep far from his neck.

Darth Kharopos made his way to the Ministry of War, the familiar fort-like compound looking just as polished as it always had. As he stepped through the gates, he paid no heed to the lesser Siths and Imperial personnel that scurried out of their way. The atmosphere seemed tense, voices talking in strained hushes, fear and anticipating dripping through every conversation his ears caught on. The Sith were thirsting for spilled blood and a renewed war was inevitable: it was only a matter of when and _how._ The moment he reached the end of the centermost hall he felt a seething coolness radiating through the final doorway, like frostbite, a cold that burnt.

He entered the meeting room.

“Ah, you’re finally here!” Darth Acharon said, opening his arms wide. Darth Kharopos simply nodded. “Good, take a seat.”

He glanced around the room. The walls were designed to intercept any signals going in or out, to short circuit any bugs. Aside from the Dark Councillor and him, there were only two other Sith whom he recognized to be the Dark Lord’s apprentices. He sat down, placing his arms squarely on the glass table before him.

And then the doors opened.

A droid marched in. Its steps were clunky, irritably loud considering how quiet the room was before it entered. Despite being created with an alloy he recognized as being a new invention by the Sphere of Military Offense, the droid was built with an outdated design: exposed metallic joints at the elbows and knees, an overly-large circular plate at its chest, two beedy violet eyes equipped with all kinds of radar and monitoring tools. It was clearly an experimental droid, but something about it made his senses tingle, his stomach twisting with an unidentifiable ache.

He squinted his eyes at it, and reached out through the Force.

“Like what you see?”

Only decades of training kept his face unmoving upon realizing the truth.

When he reached out through the Force, he sensed _something_ reaching back. It felt like frail, bony hands were clutching onto him like he was the last lifeboat, the final sign of hope before they would drown, swept away by the waves and swallowed up by the sea. Only a maddened, wretched _thing_ would look to a Sith for salvation, or perhaps it was someone shoved to the edge of desperation, dangling onto a splintered glass rope that cut at their grasp, their mind half-eaten by despair.

It… was a person. A Force-sensitive person.

“I am here to serve, my lor-” the droid spoke, the vocaliser harsh and grating. “I- help. Help.”

Darth Kharopos held back a flinch as the Dark Councillor roared, raising his arm up and sending the droid crashing into the wall with an overpowered force push.

“This is what I need you for,” Darth Acharon whipped his head to glare at Darth Kharopos. “I’ve beaten the rebellion out of these droids, but they still remain… like _this._ ”

The Councillor gestured to the droid with sob-like sounds emanating from its robotic form, sparks flying from the injured metal.

“They are the result of Biotic Science’s attempt to improve on Lord Grathan’s experiments. Instead of using mere soldiers, we’ve assimilated body parts from failed acolytes - those who went unpicked on Korriban, and elsewhere - and turned them into weapons of warfare,” something like pride beamed through the Dark Councillor’s voice, which quickly soured into disgust. “Except, _emotions_ still leak through. We only want emotions of rage, of anger and wrath, not-”

“I see what you mean, Darth Acharon,” Darth Kharopos interrupted. “Imperial Intelligence has many selective emotional inhibitors that may prove useful to you. If not, then indoctrination schemes could be enacted.”

Darth Acharon nodded furiously. “Yes! Exactly what I need. I want you to write me a code to be inserted into these droids, so they can finally be _perfect._ ”

 _Perfect._ Such a disgusting word coming from the mouth of a Sith who slew hundreds of his men for reasons as understandable as critical mission failures to stupid grounds such as failing to be impeccably dressed. Of course, the Dark Councillor would seek _perfection_ , to transform failed acolytes into perfect slaves, their hearts and minds encased within the metallic shell of a droid like some caricature of a frankenstein-like nightmare. Darth Kharopos kept his gaze bordering on boredom as he listened to Darth Acharon’s plans to create Jedi-killing Sith-turned-droids and unleash the terror upon the battlefield. Whenever he interjected an advice to Darth Acharon’s fantastical monologue, he ensured that his voice was flawlessly leveled, not giving away any hint of his true ire.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted the Dark Councillor’s apprentices standing motionless. They felt like blank slates: not submissive or servile, for it was well known how Darth Acharon loathed sycophants. Yet, there was no _fire_ in them either, like cold stone unconsumed by even the smallest lick of flame. He wondered if they proved useless, would Darth Acharon throw them into the machine to be assembled into droids too? How frustrating it must be to serve such an impossible master. Maybe that was what it meant to be a Dark Councillor: impossible standards, and ambition without any regards for life.

Darth Kharopos waited until the meeting was over, until the fervid force presence of Darth Acharon was distant and unnoticable, before he finally allowed himself to _feel._

He made his way back to Imperial Intelligence HQ, and whatever anger he wished to wallow in was interrupted by a blood-curdling scream. A familiar one too, accompanied by another unmistakable Force presence. Whereas Darth Acharon felt like cold fire, this presence was overwhelmingly slick, like slippery ice that falls through the cracks of your hand, leaving trails of cool slime all over your skin. But what truly made him feel queasy, that feeling of bile and unease squeezing his stomach, was the fact that alongside the icy presence was a sense of shadowy miasma, a permeating sense of dread that felt like the gloom of a morgue.

 _Cipher Nine?_ He thought to himself. The Cipher agent was writhing on the floor, a scream tearing through her throat as Darth Jadus shot lightning at her. He saw her biting her lips, a failed attempt to even hide her agony, her weakness. Her hands were balled up, thrashing feebly about as her body spasmed, a sheen of thin sweat covering her blue skin. Lunec’senai’aeryon, also known as Cipher Nine, was one of the best Imperial agents he ever had under his command.

And also under Darth Jadus’ command, too. After all, everyone served the head of the sphere, willingly or not.

The lightning stopped. Cipher Nine laid unconscious on the floor, bits of her muscles still twitching from the aftermath.

“In spite of her dissidence, I still want her to lead the mission,” Darth Jadus said, his attention focused toward Keeper. Credits where it was due: Keeper never flinched or showed any outwards signs of being affected by Jadus’ intimidatory force presence. “You will instruct her to do so.”

Keeper mumbled an affirmation, and Kharopos felt Jadus’ focus shifting towards him. Darth Kharopos gave a bow- nothing too grand, just the minimum that tradition dictated.

“Darth Kharopos,” Jadus said. “Darth Acharon informed me of his dealings with you. Serve him well, just as you have served me, and you will bring pride to our sphere.”

“I will, my lord.” _To the letter._

“Good,” Jadus nodded. “Within a few weeks I shall be leaving with my crew on a journey to the stars, so that I may enlighten them, let them glimpse the world from my eyes. I will see you when I return.”

_A few weeks? Finally, a timeline._

_War is looming and you are travelling the galaxy- makes perfect sense._

Darth Kharopos bowed again, and hardened his Force presence into a discreet shield. Jadus’ aura was pervading through the whole room, taking up all the space until one was left without air, without land to stand on. He saw a couple of Intelligence personnel fainting, others clutching at a table or a chair for support. He shivered, as Jadus’ presence brushed against his shield. Keeper was clearly itching to remind Jadus of his effects on other people, but Kharopos gave him a look and Keeper stayed quiet.

Finally, Jadus left. He heard many sighs being let out, feets collapsing to the ground from the sheer exhaustion of withstanding the Dark Councillor’s presence. Glancing back at the crumpled body of the Chiss agent sprawled across the ground, he stepped towards her and knelt down before pressing a gloved finger to her pulse point. Keeper was watching, not daring to approach him, but the concern was written clear across his face.

“She’ll be fine,” Darth Kharopos said. “Send her to medical- and Keeper, meet me at my office.”

With Jadus gone, the headquarters felt more like a workplace than a warzone. He sensed the eyes of watchers and fixers and various other agents anxiously upon him, waiting to see if another Sith would explode upon them. It was ridiculous: must Imperials live in abject fear of their Sith superiors, wasting precious time stepping on eggshells, constantly looking over their shoulders in paranoia of saying wrong words to the wrong ears? It was obvious how Imperial Intelligence had succeeded in keeping the Empire functioning _in spite_ of the Sith. He felt his hands curling into a fist, and swiftly relaxed it lest his anger flared.

The office within the Imperial Intelligence headquarters was just as superbly organized as it always was, with hidden buttons and secret interfaces for those who knew how to access them. When Keeper arrived, Darth Kharopos called for the privacy droid and directed it to scan the room for any breach in security, and activated the room’s secrecy protocols. After making certain that he was one of the few force sensitives within the radius, he slumped down onto the cushioned chair.

He really hadn’t planned to talk to two Dark Councillors on the same day.

“My lord? The room is secure.”

Darth Kharopos paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I will not pry into what Jadus asked of Cipher Nine; that is between him and her and I suppose you too, as her handler. But I am surprised though: Cipher Nine has never behaved in a way that warranted that kind of punishment before.”

“Like the rest of the agents, Cipher Nine is respectful to _you_ my lord.”

But not to Jadus, he assumed.

For a moment, he allowed his eyes to soften.

“Darth Acharon needs assistance with defective… droids,” he explained, and relayed the context. “Get someone to write a code to suit his needs, and deliver it to him in a holodisc as soon as possible.”

“The catch, my lord?”

Keeper was smart, he thought. “Let whichever droid that has been upgraded by the code be set to self-destruct within one or two weeks. Make it seem like a failure of hardware incompatibility, or something innocuous. Put the droids out of their miseries, Keeper.”

Sabotaging a project of a Dark Councillor, if discovered, was an automatic death sentence. Yet, Keeper still nodded. As long as the orders given by Darth Kharopos did not contradict the words of Darth Jadus, then Keeper had no reason to question the reasoning behind Sith politics. Besides, he knew full well that Darth Kharopos would not act so rashly without meaningful grounds.

Darth Kharopos felt a ping in his pockets. A holo notification.

“This conversation is over,” he said. “Contact me should any issue arise.”

He walked out of the room and found his way to a secluded corner within the complex. Reaching out with the Force, he sensed no one that could be a threat. Hidden among the shadows, he opened his holo and saw the message, sent by the same anonymous individual who had been hounding him with messages for the past months.

_The offer is still open._

He heaved a sigh and deleted the correspondence. It was either Sith Philosophy’s ridiculous attempt to lure out light-side sympathizers, or a genuine heretic reaching out to him. Either scenario meant trouble that he did not desire, not one bit.

(It would be very easy for him to just use the vast Intelligence resources at his disposal to track down the anonymous individual. Was it merely fear that held him back?)

By the time he finally travelled back to his estate, it was late evening. The estate had belonged to his late father, and was expanded extensively throughout the years. It had everything from secure war rooms, to cutting-edge training rooms both indoors and outdoors, and a vault to keep questionable artifacts and semi-legal information contained in various datapads. This particular plot of land was situated at the edge of Kaas city, rural enough to not draw unwanted attention but near enough to the urban center for an ease of travel. It was his home, and he’d once thought his apprentice had adapted well to it too.

He wasn’t sure anymore.

Darth Kharopos strode through the labyrinthine halls of his estate. He was planning to head straight for his study, to clear out some remaining Intelligence business he still had in his backlogs. The thought of more work made his head throb, a dull ache gnawing at the base of his skull. Instead of turning left, he turned right, making his way to the common room, hoping to give himself a few minutes to breathe before he would dive back into work once again. He let the weight of the day fall down into his heavier steps, no longer attempting to stalk the floors like a Kaasian vine cat.

Upon arriving, he felt like an intruder. He wished he’d been quieter, and quickly withdrew his Force presence, erecting a cloak around himself.

He had given Yennevyr time off, to take as much time as she needed to reorient herself. He’d never seen Yennevyr so peaceful. She was dressed in relaxed garments, simple flowing robes that exposed her shoulders. Her hair was tied up in a bun, and she curled herself on the sofa with a heavy tome in hand. She was completely enraptured in the text, as if in her own little world. There was life in her eyes, sparks of intellectual curiosity. A smile crept onto his face.

Darth Kharopos was about to turn around, leaving his apprentice to her reverie, but then he heard sounds of frantic flipping. Yennevyr was frowning, absentmindedly biting her lips. She flicked a page back and scanned the text from left to right, and then left to right again, before flipping the page back and scrutinizing what was on the next page. The same actions repeated in a loop, and continued for several moments.

Darth Kharopos slowly let his Force cloak drop. He was impressed by the swiftness of his apprentice’s reaction. She twisted her body around, her eyes catching his gaze.

“My lord! I… I didn’t realize you were there.”

_No, but you responded quick enough._

He walked casually towards her, attempting to read the name on the tome’s cover.

“Having trouble with that text?” he asked.

The moments when those words were spoken, he wondered if he should’ve said something different. Back when he was barely a lord, his master used to ask obvious rhetorical questions. Of course, Yen was struggling with something in the text. It was dumb of him to ask, and dumber still to do exactly what his old master had done to him in the past, knowing full well how irritating those questions were.

“Actually… yes, my lord.”

Her voice was small. He swallowed.

Up close, it was easier to see the title of the tome. _Liminal Cunning: Magic of the Old Siths._ A pile of smaller tomes stacked on the nearby table caught his attention. _Adytum of the Crooked Way. History of Sorcerers and Sages. The Sithian Pymander._

Yennevyr was compiling historical folklore and records of magical practices of the Sith.

“Go on, apprentice.”

She glanced up at him- there was a strange glint in her eye.

“On this page it mentioned the Lord in Black,” she said, before flipping the page. “The author seemed to be building up to a point where they would expand upon the description of who this person is, but then the next page started talking about a new topic entirely.”

Darth Kharopos leaned closer to the tome, his gloved fingers briefly brushing against hers as he flipped the page back and forth to examine the text as she once did. He wished Darth Labrys was here instead, for his stepmother worked in the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge- she surely knew more about this than him. He briefly wondered if she would’ve thrived better under the guiding hands of a sorcerer, how different situations may have played out if she was taught by a master who actually was good at mentoring.

“If I am correct, this book is a translation from Old Sith into Basic,” he said. “Sometimes, translators leave out secrets they believe should not be known to those they deemed unworthy.”

Yennevyr’s shoulders dropped.

“I know someone who could potentially bring you the original text though,” he added.

She perked up.

“Thank you, my lord.”

Then came the silence. He wondered if he should leave, if he had overstayed his welcome. But, leaving felt like running. He remembered the time she dared him to kill her - the delirious look in her eyes - and all he could do then was walk away, leaving her in silence.

“Yennevyr, I am sorry.”

She cocked her head to the side.

“If you fail a mission, then by chain of command, I too am responsible for your failure,” he explained. “This situation is the same. I have been… negligent of your mental state, and for that I am sorry.”

The excruciating silence filled the room again. Darth Kharopos had never been one to enjoy idle chatter, but neither could he stand awkward silences.

“Master,” Yennevyr began reluctantly, “may I speak bluntly?”

Darth Kharopos nodded. “Of course.”

“Your narcissism… martyrdom… it’s ridiculous. This isn’t about you, my lord.”

He was thankful for the rebreather that hid his reaction.

“I’ve had issues for years now. Recent events may have exacerbated it, but you didn’t cause anything. It’s a chemical imbalance of the brain in addition to other issues, all mixed into one shitty cocktail.” his apprentice said, her tone harsh. She let out a sharp exhale. “I don’t blame you, master.”

The silence came once more, but this time, his chest did not feel as tight. Yennevyr darted her eyes away from him, but her head was still held high, her shoulders pushed back. There was a boldness to her voice, steel to her posture. He was reminded of that woman he saw on the stairs of Korriban, the way her very being seemed to have shifted from meekness to gallancy.

She certainly wasn’t made of glass.

“Is there-”

“Master-”

They both spoke at the same moment.

“Go ahead, Yennevyr.”

She looked at him strangely.

“Master, between the biweekly psychiatric checkups and the tomes, I must admit I am bored. I want to do _something._ Give me a mission, my lord- anything,” her speech was rushed, as if she was concerned that she would be interrupted. “I won’t fail you again, I swear.”

He felt a swoop in his guts.

An alarm went off, and Yen glanced at her holo.

“Oh- I am supposed to take my pills now, my lord.”

“Alright,” he nodded his head, giving her the dismissal. He remembered words from his mother. “And yes, I believe I may have a mission for you.”

Her eyes lit up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes to overarching plot :3 We'll go back to the mission-of-the-week format but there will be more and more hints of the Jadus plot and the Light Side conspiracy plot going on in the background.


End file.
